
Glass P;T 
Book L_ 



RURAL PHILOSOPHY: 



REFLECTIONS 



KNOWLEDGE, VIRTUE, AND HAPPINESS » 

CHIEFLY IN nEFERENCE 
TO A LIFE OF RETIREMENT IN THE COUNTRY. 



BY ELY BATES, Es<^. 



Qiiid tibi "vitandum praecipue existimes, quseris ? turbaiYi. — > 
Eci^o certe confiteor imbecillitatem irieam. Nunquam mores cjuos 
extuli, refero. Aliqiiid ex eo quod composui, tiirbatxir; aliquid 
Gx his qiire fugavi, re<Iit. — Inimica est multorum conversatio, 

Senec. Et^ist. 7. 



FIRST AMERICAN, 

FROM THE FOURTH |.ONDON EDITION. 



PHILADELPHIA: 

PUBLISHED BY B. B. HOPKINS AND CO. 

N° IT'O, MARKET STREET. 

PRY AND KAMMERER, PRINTERS. 



1807. 



ttl\^^i 



*.. ^ 



ADVERTISEMENT. 



Both the following Preface and Re- 
flections were composed some years ago, 
during that period of republican frenzy, when 
the world, in its wild attempts to overthrow 
two of its greatest and most fundamental bless- 
ings, religion and government, seemed in akind 
of conspiracy against itself: which is here re- 
marked, in order to account for a few passages 
which might be thoughtless applicable at pre- 
sent, when so many hopeful symptoms appear of 
a return to social order and christian piety. 

Why the publication of this small w^ork was 
not made at the time above stated, or why it is 
made now, it is needless to explain; since its 
merits, w^hatever they are, depend on those 
general principles of truth and nature, which 
ought to regulate human conduct at all times, 
and in all conjunctures: and as to an author's 



iv ADVERTISEMENT. 

private inducements for presenting himself 
before the public, the prudent reader will be 
more disposed to collect them from the tenor 
of his performance^ than from the fairness of 
his professions^ or the solemnity of hisprotes« 
tations. 



PREFACE. 



1 HE following pages owe their birth to a 
treatise on Solitude, written by the late Dr, 
Zimmermann, and which, a few years ago, 
was translated into our language, and received 
with a considerable degree of popular favour* 
My first design was to have taken a summary 
view of this work; but, on a nearer inspection, 
it appeared so little capable of a logical ana- 
lysis, or reducible to any certain principles, 
that, except in a single instance, waiving the 
critique intended, I rather chose to pursue the 
train of my own reflections. 

Zimmermann was undoubtedly a writer of 
singular endowments ; he possessed great men- 
tal sensibility, and a cast of imagination which 
might be thought sublime; but does not seem 
to have been equally distinguished by force of 
reason or solidity of judgment. In his philoso- 

phv he appears to me superficial, and in his 

a2 



yi PREFACE. 

notions of virtue wild and romantic. To justify 
this censure it may be sufficient to observe, 
that an author who associates the names of 
Voltaire and Rousseau with that of the illus- 
trious Bacon, and who regards their writings 
in common as devoted to the instruction and 
happiness ofmankind^^ must have very slender 
pretensions to the character either of a philoso- 
pher or a moralist; and, when most favourably 
estimated, can only rank as a grave sentimen- 
talist. 

And here let me be permitted a remark or 
tvv^o on the sentimental turn of this age, to* 
which I am persuaded the author now in ques- 
tion is indebted for no small portion of his cele- 
brity^ In the former part of the last century^ 
it v/as usual widi writers on moml subjects to 
insist much on the reason and fitness of things, 
their several natures and mutual relations, and 
thence to deduce the laws of moi^al obligation; 
and to have deserted these grounds for the 
sake of a theory which leaves every one to re- 
solve his duty into \\m feelings^ would have 

* Zimmerman 07i Solitude, p. 176, 7- This reminds me of a 
minor prophet of the .Gallican school, who laments that the two 
former of these g-reat men could not bring themselves to unite 

for the .^alvation of the v^orld! — or words to the same effect 



PREFACE. vli 

been thought at best extremely vinphilosophi- 
eal. How different are the times in which we 
live! JVoxv the sentimental system extends its 
influence to every subject, and is become at 
once powerful and universal. It has invaded 
our histories, and even our philosophy, and 
given an air of fiction to them both ; it has 
made its way into our politics, insomuch that 
warm and frequent appeals are made to the 
feelings^ by our gravest senators in their grav- 
est deliberations, upon the most important in- 
terests of their country : and, what is still more, 
it has cast a sickly hue over our religion and 
morals, which has greatly tarnished their beau- 
ty, and impaired their authority. What, then, 
it may be said, v/ould you deprive men of their 
natural susceptibility, and convert them into 
Stoics! No: for this would be to deprive them 
of half their virtue. Let them continue to feel, 
but to feel as they ought; not as false opinion 
or corrupt principle may direct, but according 
to the immutable measures of truth and duty, 
I am no more disposed to be an advocate for 
the dry moralist, who can talk of nothing but 
reason and fitness, and eternal and necessary 
relations, than for the man of sentiment, who 
mistakes the suggestions of fancy, and the im- 



viii PREFACE. 

pulses of inordinate passion, for the pure 
dictates of uncorrupted nature; and whose 
boasted philanthropy generally terminates in 
empty speculations and barren sensibilities. 

The following discourse proceeds upon 
other principles; its foundation is, I trust, so 
firmly laid in reason and revelation, in the 
knowledge of God, of ourselves, and of the 
worldy as to be entirely adequate to bear up 
the solid superstructure of virtu e and happiness* 

The occasion which gave rise to it has 
been already stated ; to which I shall now add 
a few reasons which may, perhaps, be thought 
sufficient to justify, or, at least, to excuse its 
publication. 

That there exists at present amongst us a 
lamentable want of rural philosophy, or of that 
wisdom which teaches a man at once to enjoy 
and to improve a life of retirement, is, I think, 
a point too obvious to be contested. Whence 
is it else that the country is almost deserted; 
that the ancient mansions of our nobility and 
gentry, notwithstanding all the attractions 
of rural beauty, and every elegance of accom- 



PREFACE. ix 

modatioiij can no longer retain their owners, 
who, at the approach of winter, pour into the 
metropoUs, imd even in the summer months 
w^ander to the sea- coast, or to some other place 
of fashionable resort. This unsettled humour 
in the midst of such advantages, plainly argues 
much inward disorder, and points out the need 
us v/ell as the excellency of that discipline, 
v/hich can inspire a pure taste of nature, fur- 
nish occupation in the peaceful labours of hus- 
bandry, and, what is nobler still, open the 
sources of moral and intellectual enjoyment. 

It is indeed only in late times that this mi- 
gratory spirit has been prevalent. Our great 
grandfathers were content to reside in the 
country the year round. They were neither 
led abroad by the course of their education, 
nor by the amusements and dissipations of 
fashionable society, which are now arrived at 
such a pitch of luxurious refinement, that to 
come within the verge of their influence is to 
lose all power of return to rural simplicity ; 
unless the mind be happily fortified against the 
seduction, by a philosophy which can supply 
both pleasure aiid employment without the 
iid of artificial life. 



X PREFACE. 

The same philosophy will be of no less use 
to those who meditate a retreat after a course 
of years spent in public. It will teach them the 
proper qualifications for such a change, and 
that many things besides hounds and horses, 
murmuring streams and shady groves, sump- 
tuous houses and large estates, are necessary 
to form a comfortable retirement. Above all, 
it will direct them to those inward resources, 
without which every condition of life is inevi- 
tably subject to vanity and disappointment. 
Thus they will be instructed to a cautious pro- 
cedure, so as not to take leave of the world 
before they are well prepared to meet all the 
circumstances of their new situation, lest, after 
a few years consumed in vacancy and weari- 
ness, they should be tempted, like many others, 
to tread back their steps, and again to mingle 
ill the business or dissipations which they 
seemed to have entirely relinquished. 

It will be likewise of service in the case of 
those, to whom an interchange of business and 
retirement is preferable to either of them sepa- 
rately, and who wish to combine them both to 
the greatest advantage. 



PREFACE. ^i 

These are some of the various uses of the 
philosophy which I have endeavoured to ilkis- 
trate, and whose importance is such as may 
apologize for every attempt to recommend it 
to the public attention. 

In estimating the comparative merits of a 
public and retired life, which is a case that will 
frequently occur in the ensuing pages, I have 
been solicitous to hold the balance with an 
even hand, to defraud neither scale of its 
just weights, and to admit none that are false. 
The reader, itis presumed, willfind no attempt 
at vain panegyric, or unjust disparagement, no 
fanciful descriptions of rural innocence and feli- 
city, nor any aggravated censures of the busi- 
ness or pursuits of the world. On the contrary, 
I am willing to hope, that he will perceive 
through the whole a character of truth and sim- 
plicity, a care to exclude all partial affection 
and rhetorical declamation, and to make some 
approach towards the unbiassed and temperate 
manner of a just philosophical inquiry. 

II. I would now particularly address myself 
to several sorts of readers, in order to obviate 



xii PREFACE. 

certain prejudices, to which I foresee they will 
be liable in perusing the following reflections. 

First, I w^ould offer a word to the admirers 
of what is usually called classical learning. 
This, I know, is an idol to which many, even 
in the present philosophical age, bow down 
and pay their worship; and whoever refuses to 
unite in the same homage is in danger of being 
taxed, by some one or other, with a kind of 
literary profaneness, or at least with a degree of 
ignorant barbarism. As I have no mind to incur 
any man's censure if I can fairly avoid it, I 
would intreat such a literato to let his indig- 
nation abate before he pass a definitive sentence; 
and this request may seem the more. equitable, 
as I freely consent, on my part, to abandon to 
his most severe reprobation, whatever I have 
advanced upon the classics or classical educa- 
tion that shall be found in contradiction, 
either to sound learning, or to common sense; 
but he must not expect that deference to 
long custom and inveterate prejudice, which 
is dvie exclusively to reason and truth. I am 
not sensible that I have been deficient in any 
proper respect to the classics, by which I mean 
chiefly the heathen poets. I have spoken of 



PREFACE. xiii 

them in no harsher terms than some of the 
gravest heathen philosophers themselves have 
done, or than are warranted by a much higher 
authority, namely, that of divine revelation. It 
is for want of recurring to this infallible stand- 
ard of truth and excellence, that such extra- 
vagant regard has been paid to the productions 
of pagan writers, which too are now become 
much less necessary, since we are provided 
with so many admirable models of our own, 
superior to theirs in point of science, and scarce 
inferior either in point of genius or elegance : 
yet we still continue to go down to the Philis- 
tines, to sharpen every o?te his share, and his 
coulter J and his axe, and his mattock, as if there 
was no smith in Israel."^ 

I would next address myself to such as are 
disposed to exalt the human understanding 
beyond all due measure, and to make philoso- 
phy a rival to religion. Here, as in the former 
instance, I must beg a truce with prejudice, 
or, to use a softer language, I would desire 
such persons f'!-s;i(jg<v, to suspend, agreeably to the 
true philosophic character, and not to censure 
before they have fairly considered what shall 

* Seel Sam. xili. 19,20. 



xiv PREFACE. 

be advanced. When this is done, it may 
appear, that my design is not to depreciate 
human reason, but only to direct it to those 
aids and assistances, without which it can 
never fully discover to us the reality and exi- 
gency of our moral situation; and even were 
it so far sufficient, would do us little service, 
unless, at the same time, it could point out 
some adequate means of relief.^ My appeal is 
not from reason absolutely considered, but 
from reason warped by prejudice, and dark- 
ened by passion,, to reason rectified and inform- 
ed by the light and grace of the Christian 
dispensation. 

In like manner, it may be found that here 
is no design to decry true philosophy, but 
rather to vindicate it from the reproach under 
which it has suffered through some unhappy 
men, who have abused its name and authority 
to the most vile and impious purposes; who, 
by their pretended researches into nature, 
together with their moral and political dis- 
quisitions, have laboured to exclude the Deity 

* Pope says very well, in speaking of reason. 

Ah! if she lend not arms as well as rules. 
What can she more than tell us we are fools j 
^each us to mourn our nature, not to mend; 
A sharp accuser, but a helpless friend! 



PREFACE. XV 

irom his owr world, to subvert the foundations 
of virtue, to dissolve all the bonds of society, 
to set the child against his parent, and the 
subject against his prince, and thus to abandon 
mankind to atheism and anarchy. It is against 
this imposture under the guise of philosophy, 
that I would earnestly protest; and against 
that presuming confidence in our own powers, 
whence it takes its rise, and to which it is in- 
debted for e.very step in its progress. 

Lastly, there are others of a more pious 
turn, who, from a sense of what religion has 
suffered by the abuse of reason and philosophy, 
consider them as essentially hostile to her in- 
terests. Here, while I commend the zeal of these 
good men, I must dissent from their judgment. 
It is by the legitimate use of reason that we are 
naturally led to the discovery of truth, and no 
one truth can be hostile to another. Reason, 
therefore, in its proper exercise, cac never be in 
contradiction to revelation, and ought no more 
' to be set at variance with it, than the eye 
with the telescope through which it descries 
those objects in the heavens that otherwise 
I would be invisible ; though I allow that the 
I intellectual eye needs a fresh touch from the 
] divine oculist, to enable it to a due discharge 



xvi PREFACE. 

of its spiritual office. Again, what is true phi- 
losophy but systematic reason, which first by 
a just analysis arrives at general principles, and 
then erects upon them noble frabrics of art and 
science? Such was the philosophy which 
Bacon introduced, and so happily illustrated :> 
and Vv^hich has since, by the labours of many 
eminent men, been productive of great and 
useful discoveries ; a philosophy which, while 
it humbles, enlarges and elevates the mind, 
shows its imperfections while it increases its 
acquisitions. It cannot therefore be too much 
lamented, that this philosophy has of late times 
given place to a miserable substitute, which, 
rejecting that severe induction that is necessary 
to the estatablishment of right principles, and | 
proceeding upon gratuitous assumptions, has, 
as might be expected, built castles in the air. 
It is this philosophy which is equally adverse 
to religion and true science, whereas the for- 
mer is friei"fcdly to both ; and he who is not 
careful to distinguish between them, may 
come at length to confound the light flippancy 
of Voltaire, or the grave and impious sophis- 
try of Helvetius and Diderot, with the Avisdom 
of Bacon, or the science of Newton. 



PREFACE. xvii 

One thing more I would suggest to the se- 
rious reader; which is. Not rashly to take of- 
fence at words or phrases, though they should 
not be perfectly theological, when he admits 
the sense meant to be conveyed by them. This 
is an evil to which good men are sometimes 
liable, and which the following considerations 
I hope may serve to obviate. 

Let it first be remarked, that the influence 
of association extends itself as powerfully over 
language, as it does over things or persons. It 
is this which often reflects an odium on the 
phraseology of scripture, by suggesting an idea 
of enthusiasm, cant, or hypocrisy. The words 
virtue ^"^ rectitude^ reformation^ with others of 
the same family, areof a good sound, and will 
give no offence to the most gay and thought- 
less; but to talk oi grace ^ holiness^ regeneration^ 
is a diction that will not always be endured 



* This is a word which often occurs in the following* dis- 
course; and to prevent, if possible, all misapprehension of its 
meaning, I would here remark, that, when taken generally, it is 
used to denote piety toi^ards God, as well as benevolence toivards 
men. In this sense it is found in some good writers; and with 
the same extensive application it may still, as I conceive, be 
allowed to the Christian moralist, notwithstanding the abuse it 

has suffered by bad men> who, after they have employed it to 

b2 



XX PREFACE. 

Again: The example of those men who em- 
ploy every art of human eloquence, and who 
resort even to the peculiar dialect of scrip- 
ture, in order to overspread the world with 
infidelity, vice, and anarchy,-^ may furnish 
something towards his apology, who endea- 
vours to improve the language of moralists and 
philosophers to the support of scripture doc- 
trines and practices, or, in other words, of 
religion and virtue, of order and social happi- 
nesss. 

In the last place, I would observe, in general, 
that a scrupulosity of temper in the use of any 
lawful means to promote the spiritual or tem- 
poral welfare of mankind, receives no counte- 
nance either from reason or revelation, or from 
the conduct of the best and wisest men. And 
when to this we add the zeal and diligence with 
which bad men (and eminently at the pre- 
sent period) practise every device to spread 

* of this abuse of scripture expression we have had a remark- 
able instance in the word regenerate, which some years ago 
(about the time when the above was written) strangely found its 
way into our ordinary discourse; so that instead of plain refor- 
mation we heard of nothing but regeneration ; and to regenerate 
the laws, constitutions, opinions, and manners of society became 
the magic language which dw^k upon the lips of every mo- 
dern reformado. 



PREFACE. xxi 

universal mischief, who shall deny that it is 
allowable for every good man, nay, still more, 
that it is his duty, by every fair and practicable 
method, to diffuse good ; and when it is reject- 
ed in one form, to try whether it may npt find 
entertainment in another. 

What is here said may perhaps be thought 
enough to justify any liberty I have taken in 
the use of language; if not, I must comfort 
myself in the reflection that my endeavour has 
been, without any fond regard to particular 
words or phrases, or any other partiality what- 
ever, to speak up honestly to the reality of 
things, and to convey important truth with 
evidence and impression. And this effect, it is 
hoped, will not entirely be wanting, at least to 
those who shall attend seriously and intelligent- 
ly to what shall be offered. It is to such pre- 
pared readers, whose minds are well disposed 
towards religion, and at the same time some- 
what opened by education, that this small rural 
labour is chiefly addressed; and should it in 
any degree be of use to establish their princi- 
pies, or to direct their inquiries, more true 
satisfaction would thence result to the writer, 
than if he had furnished out a volume of mere 
euriositiy or amusement to the public at large* 



xxii PREFACE. 

To the first part it was intended to have 
subjoined a section on human science and lite- 
rature. This, however, it was afterwards 
thought proper to omit, as occasions would 
arise in the following parts for as many stric- 
tures of this nature as would sufficiently an- 
swer my purpose; which was, to consider 
human learning simply in its relation to virtue 
-and happiness. 

In treating of the knowledge of God, I have 
waived all merely metaphysical disquisition, 
and confined myself to that view of the subject 
which to us is most important. To know what 
God is in himself, or in his own absolute being 
and perfections, is beyond all human or angelic 
understanding; and he who thus curiously pries 
into his majesty is in danger to be overwhelm- 
ed with the glory.* To know what he is to 
us in the relation of a holy and righteous ruler, 
and gracious benefactor, is put within the 
reach of our discovery; and, to those who are 
brought to a proper sense of their moral situa- 
tion, is a knowledge both cheering and sa- 
lutary. And I have the rather insisted upon 

* Prov. XXV. 27' Scrutator majestatis, opprimetur gloria. Sq 
the Ful^atc. 



PREFACE. xxiii 

this topic, because it is usual with men, 
either to entertain ideas of divine goocj- 
ness which are derogatory to perfect holiness 
and justice, or to exalt these latter attributes, 
taken in conjunction with absolute sovereign- 
ty, to the prejudice of that mercy which is re- 
vealed in scripture, and is also not obsurely 
indicated in nature and providence; a pro- 
ceeding which tends, in the one case, to in- 
spire the mind with presumption, and in the 
other to sink it in despondence : and nothing 
can be of more importance than to guard 
equally against both these extremes. 

Upon every other topic, in the progress of 
the work, more regard has been had to use 
than to theory, to what is just and applicable 
to human conduct, than to researches that 
might seem profound or scientific ; which the 
equitable reader, it is presumed, will neither 
ascribe to the writer's entire incapacity for 
such inquiries, nor to his want of liberal 
curiosity. Perhaps, like many others, he may 
in the former part of life have indulged suffi- 
ciently to mere speculation; but this, as years 
advanced, he has found less attractive, and 
has gradually been led to view things not so 



xxiv PREFACE. 

much in their abstract nature, as in their moral 
and practical tendencies; and to induce the 
same disposition in others constitutes one 
principal end of the present work. Of its exe- 
cution, indeed, he entertains, as is fit, a very 
moderate opinion ; of its principles he has no 
such diffidence ; nor can he hesitate to assert, 
that, were they generally admitted, the most 
important advantages would thence result both 
to public and private life ; men would find out 
their proper place in the general system, and 
learn to conduct themselves in this world in a 
manner becoming the candidates for a better. 

The above prefatory remarks may be suffi- 
cient to show the nature and scope of those 
which follow. The whole is now committed 
to the candour of the reader ; but, above all, 
to that divine blessing, which can prosper the 
meanest endeavours, and without which the 
greatest and ablest must prove abortive. 



CONTENTS. 



PART I. 

REFLECTIONS ON KNOWLEDGE. 

Section I — On the knowledge of God; par- 
ticularly in his Justice and Benignity to- 
wards Man. 2. This knowledge unattaina- 
ble in any satisfactory degree without the 
Light of Revelation. 3. To be sought by page 

Study and Prayer in Conjunction. . . . 1....26 
Section II. — On the Knowledge of Ourselves. 27... .60 
Section III.— On the Knowledge of the 
World 61. ...80 



PART 11. 

HEFLECTIONS ON VIRTUE. 

Section I.— In which it is considered how far 
Retirement is fayourable to Virtue, from its 
tendency to weaken the impression of the 

World 8 1. ...90 

b 



XXVI 



CONTENTS 



Section IL — Containing some Observations 
on those Means which tend, by a more di- 
rect and positive influence, to th'e Promotion 
of Virtue. . 

Section III. On some Evils particularly in- 
cident to a retired Life, and which are con- 
trary, or at least unfavourable to Virtue : with 
a few Hints respecting their Remedies, 



91. ,..142 



143..,.162> 



PART IIL 



REFLECTIONS ON HAPPINESS, 

Section I — On the happiness arising from 
the Independence, the agricultural Pursuits, 
the Diversions, and Scenery, of a Country 
Life. . ^ 

Section II.~The Pleasures of a literary Re- 
tirement. . . . '. 

Section III. — The Pleasures of a devotional 



Retirement considered. 



16^ 



\76, 



195. ...2or 



PART IV. 



in which a common objection against a LIFE OF 
RETIREMENT, NAMELY, THAT IT DESTROYS OR DI- 
MINISHES USEFULNESS, IS PARTICULARLY CONSI- 
DERED. 

Section I — Containing some Remarks on 

the Utility arising from Public Station. . 208. ...220 

Section II. — A retired Life considered in re- 
spect to Utility, o ....... 221. ...232 



CONTENTS, xxvii 

Section III.~The Utility of Monasteries """^^^ 
considered 233. ...240 

Conclusion. — In which it is considered, how 
far the Principles of the foregoing Discourse 
may be of Use to guide us in the Choice of 
Life. . . • , . . . 24i...,260 



RURAL PHILOSOPHY. 



PART I. 
REFLECTIONS ON KNOWLEDGE, 



SECTION I. 

On the Knowledge of God; {larticularly in his Justice and 
Benignity towards Man, IL This Knowledge unattain- 
able in any satisfactory Degree^ without the Light of Reve- 
lation, III. To be sought by Study and Prayer in Con* 
junction, 

XT is remarked by WoUaston, that truth is the off^- 
spring of silence,^ of unbroken meditations,, and of 
thoughts often revised and corrected* This observa- 
tion, though it holds in respect to human knowledge 
in general, is peculiarly applicable to some of its higher 
branches. To investigate the more abstruse proper- 
ties of number and figure, or to explore the secrets 
•of nature, a man must exchange the tumultuous scenes 
of business, and the giddy circles of dissipation, for 
the calm and recollection of a studious retirement. 
Or if he would examine into the powers and faculties 
of his own mind, and curiously trace its operations, 
he will find it still more necessary to withdraw from 

B 



2 On the Knorvledge of God. [part i. 

the noise and bustle of life, and to make his court to 
silence and solitude. 

If then an abstraction from the busy multitude be 
a needful preliminary in order successfully to in- 
vestigate the laws of quantity, the properties of mat- 
ter, or the operations of our own minds, objects which 
lie in some measure within the reach of our senses 
or consciousness; it would be highly irrational to sup- 
pose it less requisite, when we would trace His being 
and perfections, who dxvelleth in light inaccessible^ 
whose nature is transcendent, and whose attributes 
are infinite. 

Yet this reasoning, however cogent and irresistible 
it appears, will, it may be feared, have little influence 
vipon some, who, though they would not expect to 
become profound metaphysicians, or learned in na- 
tural science, without frequent intervals of retired 
study, will vainly pretend to a sufficient knowledge 
of the great Author of nature, though they have 
never employed any stated portion of their time for 
its attainment; or at most have never gone beyond a 
formal appearance once in seven days in some church 
or other place of religious resort, merely from a sense 
of decorum, or in conformity to the custom of those 
around them. 

This conceit of native and unacquired mental en- 
dowments may, in some cases, be suffered to pass 
without much censure. That a poet, for instance, is 



.ECT. I.] On the Knoxvledge of God. 3 

born'sucl. and not ^0^0^^^^^^^;^;^ 
old notion, whose truth it ,s not -orth the jhd to 
rlisoute as it is of little consequence whether t be 
tr Vie. But for a .an to imagine himse^ . 
possession of the highest wisdom, who has never 
Se any serious efforts to attain it; to suppose, that 
Te knowledge of God is with him or.gmal and m- 
nate vhLh to the ancient poet Snnonides m propor- 
"n Mhe urged his inquiries, seemed the more to 
Te them,* is a presumption equally ' contrary to 
fetn and experience, and deserves to be branded 
as the grossest enthusiasm. 

The first step to tr^e wisdom is to feel .he want 
„tuld .Le n « is a wiUingnes, tobestow the patns 
vfeh »e neeessary to obtain it; without these pre- 
*o«s dispositions, no outward advantages are suffi- 
:: „sl«rethe ,c<,uisition. ^ man thus unq^^ 
li^Id mav retire into the country, but he wdl grow 
no wis" iere than he was before in town. If he hap- 
;„« be philosopher, he will proeeed, in h» usua 
manner to a'muse himself with the effects, w.thou 
;;: cuttashis inquiries to their just ,»sue m th 
Lwledge and adoration of the First Cause; .f he be 
Tm 1 Inactivity, he will betake himself to h,s spom 
or his husbandry, and if an indolent ep--, he »m 
,i„k down into a life of low indulgence. There .s no 
malical virtue in fields or groves, no loca msp.ra- 
Z, wM* will elevate atr unprepared mmd from 

> Vide Cic. de Nat. Deor. lib. i. §22- 



■* On the Knoxvkdge of God. [parti. 

things natural to moral, from matter'to spirit, and 
irom the creature to the Creator. 

For although it is true that God is sometimes found 
of them who seek him not, it is only to those who 
^^^S^ntly seek him, that a promise is made of finding 
him.* To the former it is commonly in vain that the 
heavens declare his glory, and thefrmament shexveth 
lus handy rvork; they have eyes and see not, ears and 
hear not, and their hearts do not understand: while 
to the latter, the most familiar scenes of nature, and 
every object around them, yields a divine attestation; 
they find * 

Tongues in trees, books in the running brooks. 
Sermons in stones, and good in every thin- 

• to* 

It is to these, and such as these, whose minds are 
in some degree awake to religion, who are serious 
and earnest in their search after Him with whom 
they are most concerned to be acquainted, and who 
at the same time, are not without some tincture of 
general literature, that I would address the .ubse- 
quent reflections; as it is to them only that thev can 
be supposed to prove either useful or acceptable! 

But before we proceed to the inquity now before 
us. It is proper to apprize the reader, that it is not bv 
dmtof reason only, and by heaping one argument 
•..pon another, that we expect to climb to heaven, and 



Prov. 



ir o— 5. 



SECT, t.] On the Knowledge of God. o 

there to pry into the divine nature and will ; an at- 
tempt which, as it would bear some resemblance to 
that .of the fabled giants of old, would be sure to re- 
semble it in its issue: 

Ter sunt conati imponere Pelio Ossaiii) 

Scilicet, atque Ossae frondosum involvere Olympum: 

Ter pater extructos disjecit fulmine mbntes. 

ViRGIl. 



I 



On Pelion, thrice to heave they all essay'd 

Ossa, and thrice on Ossa's tow'ring head 

To roll Olympus up with all his shade: 

Thrice hurl'd th' Omnipotent his thunder round, 

Anddash'd the pil'd-up mountains to the ground. 

DRYDEir. 



To check such a presumption, it might be sufficient 
to consider how much the greatest sages of pagan- 
ism miscarried in their speculations on this most im- 
portant subject. Some of them fell into the grossest 
atheism, as Democritus and Strato, and their follow- 
ers, who vainly endeavoured to resolve all things in- 
to chance or necessity. Others were bewildered in a 
multiplicity of deities. And those who asserted one 
universal intelligent nature, generally supposed it to be 
nothing more than the souloi the world, or its nobler 
constituent part, and made it to consist of an exqui- 
sitely subtle matter, such as fire or sether. Even 
Anaxagoras and Plato, who soared much higher, 
seem to have had no proper idea of creation, but to 
have considered matter as an eternal and independent 
principle, out of which a divine mind (first introduced, 

as is said, by the former of these philosophers) made 

B 2 



6 On the Knowledge of God. [part i. 

as perfect a world, as the contumacious qualities of 
the subject to be wrought upon would permit. Nor 
was the author of the universe better known in the 
character of supreme Lord and Ruler. Cicero, speak- 
ing of the Greek philosophers, who were probably as 
enlightened as those of any other country, declares it 
to have been their common opinion, that the gods 
were never angry ^ nor did harm to any one:^ whence 
we may at least collect that the doctrine of punitive 
justice, or of that unalterable displacency and re- 
sentment of sin, which is represented to us in scrip- 
ture as an essential perfection of the divine nature, 
held scarcely a place in their theology. And for what 
little they advanced rightly concerning the true God, 
they appear to have been more indebted to the Hebrew 
records, or to some remains of primitive tradition, 
than to their own abstracted speculations, f 

He therefore who wishes to succeed in this mo- 
mentous inquiry, must learn to carry into it a spirit 
of humility, a dependence upon divine aid, and a 

* Hoc quidem Gommiine est omnium philosophorum, non eo- 
rum mode, qui deum nihil habere ipsum negotii dicuntj et nihil 
exhibere alteri; sed eorum etiam qui deum semper agere ali- 
quid, et moliri volunt, nunquavi nee irasci deum, nee nocere. Cic. 
de Off. § 28. 

t Should the reader be disposed to inquire into the state of 
religious knowledge in the heathen world, he may consult Le- 
land on the advantage and 7iecessity of revelation^ a work which I 
presume is inferior to none upon the subject, and which doubt- 
less highly merits the attention of every young man of liberal 
education, and especially of every student of divinity. 



SECT. 1.] On the Knowledge of God. 7 

reverent regard to every discovery that God hasbeeti 
pleased to make of himself in his word^ as well as 
in his works. Otherwise, if in contempt or neglect 
of the former, he trusts to his own researches into 
the latter, he will probably find, however he may be 
armed with all the powers of philosophy, and exempt- 
ed from every external interruption, that the Creator 
of the universe, after all his investigation, will re- 
main to him, as to the Athenians of old,, an unknown 
God. 

But if, instead of a vain reliance upon his own 
understanding, he looks to the light of the revela- 
tion, he may be directed to such an interpretation of 
the works of creation and providence, as will lead 
him to just views of the Deity; particularly in the 
twofold character he sustains towards man, of a 
righteous judge, who will not forbear to take cogni- 
zance of his offences, and of a tender parent, who is 
disposed to forgiveness, whenever it can be shown, 
without an impeachment of his just authority. It is 
this complex character upon which I shall here insist; 
as we are much more concerned to inquire what God 
is to us, and what we may expect at his hands, than 
to enter into any curious metaphysical disquisition of 
what he is in his own absolute being and perfections. 

If then, in the manner above stated, divested of 
prejudice and guided by revealed light, we take a 
survey of sublunary nature, or of that system at the 
head of which we are placed, we shall find that it 



U On the Knowledge of God. [part i. 

has undergone a great change on account of human 
apostacy ; that it lies under the frown of heaven ; that 
its order and course is disturbed ; and, in fine, that it 
has become a stage 6n which the Almighty no less 
displays his justice and his judgments, than his grace 
and his beneficence; on which his indignation against 
sin is no less conspicuous, than his compassionate re- 
gard to sinners. 

Whichever way we direct our view, this mingled 
character now is recognised. It is recognised, when 
we see the hopes of the year intercepted by unsea- 
sonable frosts or blighting winds ; or the joy of the 
reaper damped by sweeping rains, even when his 
sickle is in the harvest; when we see the earth teem- 
ing spontaneously with noxious plants, while those 
which are useful are not generally yielded without 
toil and culture; and emitting her poisonous steams 
along with her salutary exhalations; when we see the 
most fruitful regions infested with noisome beasts 
and insects, undermined by volcanic fires, or exposed 
to the artillery of heaven.'^ 

* In a book entitled Studies of Nature, written in French by M, 
de Saint Pierre, and translated by Dr. Hunter, minister of a 
Scots' church in London, it is asserted, contrary to what is 
here advanced. That calamities such as those here specified 
" are only inflicted by nature on man, when he deviates from 
her laws." " If storms," says tlie author, " sometimes ravage his 
orchards and his corn-fields, it is because he frequently places 
them where nature never intended they should grow. Storms 
scarcely ever injure any culture except the injudicious cultiva- 
tion of man. Forests and natural meadoivs never suffer in the slightest 



SECT. I.J On the Knowledge of God. 9 

Again; if we fix our view on man, we find judg. 

ment and mercy apparent through every period of 

l^^t "• ^- '.'-^ ^^^'"= " ' "" -^ »'^'-- there ever 
^ould have been a s.ngle unwholesome spot upon the earth if 

theaTh r r"'^'" ^'°"'''''" quite superfluous. Surely 

uier q,iarter of the world) the whole continent of America 

winch .t .well known was found generaUy insalubrLs „d 

sc=^e^j.h.table. before it had passed under the hand oV :he 

admirl' -"tt""' "'''' '^"' ''' ^'^^"^ '" ^-"-' ^^^ found its 
place, ,n order to guard the young and incautious reader against 
...l™.wa. not perhaps be considered as altogether r 

rtfyrdii^---- 

-es) come to be ^r.^; .r Z^X^Z^; 

I' s;e"prt?z:'u^rc"™^- -^"^^— - 

2r9 ) Agam. " Nature opposes beings to each other i orde ' to 

FromthTf7t";r"' " ^'"-^"^^^'^ wild and improbable, 
collected that Man in a state of purity [by which he her. 

^;";v«t °'""""^ '^^ "° •^^"^-' -- totar." (v:r . 

! ^ p. 69.) 1 repeat it (says he) for the consolation of the hu 
i Tvir^'T:' "■" '^ '°^^'^" *« ">- - well a 2 iei» 

' - b so'' V""' ^'""' '* •'^ '"'1"'-^ '^o- «- world ate 
■^e so generally corrupt as we now find it, he will answ" 



10 On the Knowledge of God. [hart i. 

his present existence. During the season of infancy, 
we see him subject not only to helpless weakness, 
but also to many pains and diseases; and we see him 
too at the same time sustained and cherished by the 
tenderness of parental affection. Amidst the dan- 
gers and difficulties which beset his advancing years, 
we see him furnished with reason for a guide, and 
happily impelled by his social instincts to unite him- 
self with other men in friendly associations and bo- ^ 
dies politic. Thus, by combined efforts, he is able, not 
barely to provide himself with a shelter from the 
elements, and with a scanty supply of food for his 
subsistence, but also, by the contrivance of fit instru- 
ments and engines, to extend his command over na- 
ture, to multiply his conveniences and comforts, and 

« Man is born good, it is society that renders him wicked." 
(Vol. ii. p. 134.) Or, as he elsewhere tells us, tliat all our vices 
are " the necessary results of our political institutions." (Vol. 
vi p 65, 66.) Lastly, from an Indian Paria he has learned, (as 
we are allowed to suppose from the whole tenor of the fiction,) 
that " truth is to be found only in nature." (Vol. vi. sub finem.) 
Such are the principles and sentiments in the work before us. 
And now can we forbear to wonder when we hear the transla- 
tor declare, that « he had read few performances with more 
complete satisfaction, and with greater improvement, than the 
Studies of Nature r and can we less wonder when he proceeds 
to demand, with an air of confidence, « What work of science 
displays a more sublime tlieology, inculcates a purer morality, 
or breathes a more ardent or more e^ipansive philantliropy !" 
(Vol i Pref ) This high flown panegyric might induce a sus- 
picion that the Doctor is not mudi conversant with the pnnc 
pies of a sound philosophy : and that, in his extravagant zeal fo 
his author, he had lost sight both of the Assembly's Catech,sm 
and of his Bible 



SFXT. T.] On the Knowledge of God. 11 

at the same time to erect a more effectual fence 
against the numberless evils to which he is exposed. 
And if to this general co-operation, we add the relief 
arising from particular assistance and sympathy, from 
the ordinary vicissitude of the world, and from the 
lapse of time itself, we shall find there are few in- 
stances of human distress which are not attended 
with many circumstances of alleviation. And lastly, 
whatever be the lot of man, we see him borne up 
by an insuppressible hope, which affords a happy pre- 
sumption, that, however his condition may be often 
sad and perilous, it is never absolutely desperate and 
irretrievable. 

We may recognise the same mixed character 
when we look back on the conduct of Providence 
tov/ards the world at large, even in the most awful 
instances, which by impressing a conviction of the 
nature and consequences of sin, were suited to ob- 
struct its progress. The instances I have here in view 
are, the expulsion of man from Paradise; the labour 
' and toil to which he was doomed by the curse upon 
the ground ; lastly, the universal deluge, which pro- 
bably, as the great secondary cause, by the changes 
it produced both in the earth itself and its surround- 
ing atmosphere, further multiplied the evils and 
gradually abridged the term of human life, and thus 
opposed a fresh barrier to human depravity. In all 
this process, the attentive observ^er will acknowledge 
the Judge of the earth to be the Father of conipas- 
sions-j who, if his disobedient children be not re- 



12 On the Knowledge of God. [part !• 

claimed by lighter chastisements, will not spare to 
treat them with greater rigours, no less from a re- 
gard to their welfare than to his own dignity and 
just authority. 

Finally, the same character may be recognised in 
the state of the inferior tribes of the animal creation, 
which, from their relation to man as their superior 
lord, are partly involved in his fate. With him they 
share in the benignity of the common parent j with 
him likewise they suffer 

The penalty of Adam, the season's difFerence, 

As the icy fang, and churlish chiding of the winter's wind: 

with other rigours and incommodities that flow from 
the same source. 

Thus, in the whole frame and course of the world 
since the original defection, we may discern a dis- 
play of justice softened by forbearance, and of indul- 
gence tempered by justice; a righteous judge as well 
as a gracious benefactor; a God offended, but not ir* 
reconcilable. By the light of scripture we are safely 
conducted through the labyrinth of nature, which, to 
the philosopher, who looks only to the present state 
of things, without considering the change that has 
taken place by man's disobedience, must prove ex- 
tremely dark and inexplicable. 

For what account can he give upon the hypothesis 
of our native innocence, and of our relation to God 
as a benign Creator only, of the treatment we receive 



SECT. I.] On the Knowledge of God. \^ 

in the course of his providence? Should he suggest 
as a solution of this difficulty, as he probably may^ 
that it \^for our trial^for the exercise and improve- 
ment of our virtue^ andy in consequence^ the advance- 
ment of our happiness; yet is it not a strange trial, 
for an innocent creature to be introduced into being 
with weeping and anguish, to sicken a few years, 
and before he has committed any personal offence, 
to be snatched away by the hand of death; or, if his 
term be lengthened, to see him exposed to number- 
less evils, both moral and physical, to injuries and 
disasters, tp the buffets of nature and of what the 
world calls fortune, and then to close his days in 
languishing disease, and sometimes in excruciating 
torment? Is this a trial under a constitution solely 
established upon the benignity of the Creator, and 
which bears no relation to his vindictive justice and 
j holy displeasure as an offended Governor? To reason 
thus, is not to do honour to the goodness of God, 
or to justify his ways to man; and it argues little dis- 
cernment in the choice of difficulties, to take refuge 
^n such a scheme in preference to Christianity. 

^ It is only, therefore, when v/e take into our view 

. the twofold character which the Almighty sustains 

towards guilty man, of a just ruler and of a tender 

; parent, that we can in any measure reconcile the 

phsenomena of nature and providence vrith our ideas 

of the divine perfections. In this case, as we shall no 

longer consider m^kind as retaining the purity of 

leir first paradisiacal state, we shall not be obliged 



14 On the Knozvledge of God. [part i. 

to account why the earth they inhabit is not in all 
points entirely accommodated to their present conve- 
nience ; why they are in danger from noxious plants 
and animals, and exposed to the intemperature of the 
seasons, with other disorders of the elements; and 
shall think it sufficient if we are able to discern, 
though imperfectly, m the present system and course 
of the world, considered in relation to man as a sin- 
ner, an exhibition of holiness and justice, tempered 
with 7nuch long-sufferings and paternal indulgence. 

I have dwelt the more upon this topic, because it 
is not unusual to meet with moral and philosophical 
writers, otherwise of no mean abilities, who overlook 
the justice of God in the present constitution and 
course of nature, which they consider merely as a 
display of wisdom and goodness ; of wisdom in the 
mechanic^ contrivance, and of goodness in the sup- 
ply it affords to our temporal necessities. This, how- 
ever, is a very partial view, and has a dangerous ten- 
dency to divert our attention from those manifold 
signatures of awful displeasure which are stamped on 
every part of the terrestrial system. It tends to beget 
in us an opinion that we are purely the objects of di- 
vine benignity, and that every suffering we are called 
to undergo is no more than a fruit of paternal disci- 
pline, and a m^an to promote our happiness; and 
contains in it nothing of judicial animadversion, or 
that is monitory of heavier inflictions to be endured 
hereafter, if not timely averted. Hence such sooth- 
ing doctrine, under show of exalting the goodness of 



SECT. I.] On the Knowledge of God. 15 

God, derogates from his governing justice; and in 
ministering to human consolation induces a state of 
security, so as to render tb.ose warnings vain which 
were graciously intended to be preventive of our 
final ruin, I have therefore endeavoured to make 
nature heard in her declarations of judgment as well 
as of mercy; in her testimony to her almighty Au- 
thor in the relation he bears towards us of a holy and 
righteous governor, as well as in that of a compas- 
sionate parent and of a liberal benefactor.^ 

* Since the first edition of these reflections I have read a 
work on Natural Theology, by a very eminent writer, in which 
I was sorry to observe the defect here stated. After many ad- 
t mirable proofs of the being of God, drawn up with that force and 
I perspicuity, for wliich the author is so much disting-uished, he 
I ^proceeds to resolve the whole constitution ands^course of na- 
' ture into a display of divine goodness, without 'kQ,y apparent 
reference to that ^iKri*, or pu?iitive justice, which is so obviously 
inscribed on the fa-e of the world, when viewed in the lis^ht of 
I scripture, (Compare Gen. ch. iii. v. 17 — 19. with Rom. ch.viii. 
' V. 18 — 23; and Isaiali, ch. xxiv. v. 5 and 6.) And I must be al- 
lowed to express my regret that an author who has deserved so 
well of mankind, by his excellent defence of re\'elation, should 
I so little have availed himself of its assistance, in his contempla- 
' tion of nature. 

I would here further refer the reader to the descriptions of 
the golden age, and of those that followed, which we find in many 
» ancient poets; among- the rest, in Hesiod, in Virgil, and in 
I Ovid; by all of whom it is expressly taught, that a great change 
I has passed upon nature; and evidently supposed, that this 
I change took place as a punishment of hr.man degeneracy. The 
. following passages from Ovid, in the first book of his Metamor- 
■ phcses, may serve as a specimen for all. 

t * See en this word, Poli Synopsis Crit. in Acta ApostoL c. 
f -xxviii. V. 4. 



16 On the Knowledge of God. [part x. 

II. This difference of character, which God sus- 
tains towards man, and v/hich is all that nature can 
teach us concerning him, evidently must leave the 
serious mind in a state of awful suspense. Though it 
suggests a hope that our case is not absolutely des- 
perate, or, in other words, that our Maker is still 
reconcilable, it directs us to no certain way or means 
of reconciliation; a deficiency w^hich should dispose! 
lis to listen with humble gratitude to the farther in- 
struction of scripture, whence only we can derive 
satisfaction in this, and in many other points that 
concern our highest interest. 

Speaking of the golden age, he says: 

Ver erat aeternum; placidique tepentibus aurls 
Mulcebant Zephyri natos sine semine flores. 
Mox etiam fruges tell us inarata ferebat ; 
Necrenovatus ager gravidis canebat aristis. 
Flumina jriin lactis, jam fluniina nectaris ibant, 
Flavaque de riridi stillabant iiice mella. 

Next, the silver age is thus described ; 

Postquam, Saturno tenebrosa in Tartara misso. 
Sub Jove mundus erat; subiit argentea proles, 
Auro deterior, fulvo pretiosior xre. 
yupiter antiqui contraxit teDipora ^eris; 
Ferque hyenies, cestusque ISf inequales autumnoa, 
Et breve ver, spatiis exeyjt quatuor araiuni: 
Tiivi priumurn siccis aer fervor ibus ustus 
Canduit; l^ ventis glades adstricta pependit. 

And after the wickedness of mankind was to come to the 
height, and just before Jupiter is represented as bringing on 
the universal deluge, he is made to speak as follows : 

Qiia terra patet, fera regnat Erynnis; 
In facinus jurasse putes ; dent ociiis om.nes 
Qiias meruere pati (sic stat sententia) p^ena^. 



SECT. I.] On the Knowledge of God. t7 

Mr. Locke somewhere says, " I thank God for 
the light of the revelation which sets my poor rea- 
son at rest in many things that lay beyond the reach 
of its discovery.'' To this memorable and pious 
acknowledgment of the weakness of human under- 
standing, let me add that of another very eminent 
philosopher,* who, in a prayer highly admired by 
Mr. Addison, thus addressed the Almighty, " I have 
sought thee in courts, fields, and gardens, but I have 
found thee in thy temples:" which is in other words 
to declare, that it was only by the light of scripture 
and the exercises of devotion, that he attained to 
that acquaintance with God which he had sought for 
in viun amidst the hurry of secuLu' affairs, or in the 
course of his philosophicul pursuits. These great ex- 
ampies, among others, may properly be urged in 
proof of the necessity and advantage of revelation, 
and as an authority which niay confidently be oppos- 
ed to that pride of pretended reason, and that igno- 
ranee and contempt of the Bible, which so unhappily 
disunguishes the present race of minute philosophers. 

The Bible is the brightest mirror of the Deity. 
There we discern not only his being, but his character; 
not only his character, but his will; not only what 
he is in himself, but what he is to us, and what 
we may expect at his hands. This knowledge of 
God, as we have before suggested, neither nature nor 
providence can teach us, whatever we may thence 
collect concerning the relation he bears towards us 

* Lord Bacon. 

C 2 



^« On the Knowledge of God. [..art t. 

as the Creator a.ul Covernor of the world, or of his 
propensity to mfrcyatid reconcilement. 

He therefore vvlio aspires alter the knowledge now 
tleseribed, must direct his attention to diose objects 
which are revealed to us o.dy in scripture; and to 
that ol)jee( in particular, in which the Almighty has 
manifested himself, i,od, in his essential attributes 
'»>(! m his ])ropensions towards die luiman race', in a 
maimer more glorious than in all his other works and 
dispensations. This object is a mediator, in whom 
the sovereign of the universe appears ^juk God and a 
.SV/wonr,* and at once eminently displays the holiness • 
of liis natine, the majesty of his government, and the 
inunensity of iiis mercy. 

No man, says Christ, Knotvclh the Father but the 
Son, and he to -whom the Son rvill reveal hvn:\ And 
again: No man eometh to the Father but by mc-X 
And yet die apostle Paul declares. That the invisible 
thing, of him (speaking of the Deity),yrom the crea- 
tion of the world, are clearly .seen, bein,^ understood 
hij the things that are made, even his eternal power 
and god~head;% and dmt when the gentiles knew (iod; 
they glorified him not as Cod-lj Whence we may 
infer, that the knowledge spoken of by the master ' 
and die disciple is not die same; that the former is of 
a sujierior nature to the latter; and that the ablest 

* Isiiiali, xlv. 21. tM:i(t. xi.Sr. 

t Joliti, xiv. 6. § Rom. i, 20. tl Kom. i. 21 



SECT. i.J On the Knowledge of God. 19 

pWlosopher after nil he can learn from^he heavens 
ana the earth, must apply to the great teacher and 
Prophet of mankind, for that knowledge of God 
which will make him W,,w.a^,-,„. ^ """^ ' 

e.n?',r'?* P'-^^^^Ption of the human mind, 
espeaally when strengthened by a conceit of supe- 
nor attamments, will not easily be reduced to this 

eh be rvtse ^n t/ns rvorld, ,, ^,,,, ^^^^^^^ ^ 

that he..-.y I,, ,,,,,, * The most towering phiioso-' ' 

pher, though he exalt himself as the eagle, and set his 

tin 17 f "^"■•^' ^""" "°°P - ^•--e -truc- 
t.on that .s, he must divest himself of all vain opin- 

>onofh.ssc,entific abilities; he must renounce the 

proud and v.ionary theories of men, who concea 

he,r .mp.ety, and oftentimes their ignorance unde 

the name of reason, and must come with the simpli. 

cty of a chdd, to the school of the desnised W 

rene, to be taught the first elements of divine know. 

ge . or he may find that all his parts and speculatiol 

>vm only serve to work him more deeply into error. 

It is to the want of this submission of the under- 
s^andmg, so highly becoming a creature and a sinner 
that we must chiefly ascribe that awful prevalence' 
of.nfieh^ya.datheis^ 

we Ve. To th.s a neaghbouring country is indebted 
for her sophists, who, under the fair pretext of con- 



* 1 Cor. iii. 18. 



JO On,heK„o,vUdge<,fG,d. ["Rt i. 

a„ca„.h./» greater .«». ^'^'^:^X^:il 

the same cause it must, in a grea 

signed, that so many Ch™«™' .'" »™';^'^ i^.,. 

of a real partidpation of the blessings of Chnstianitj 

Let not hi™, then, whohasvet-ite^oin the world 
i„ search of divine knowledge, '"Pl^/X- "l-h 

r:rrr.r:r;rtniLo.n 

t^Lllould be sought for in vain a.^t the wor.s 
of nature, and the volumes of phdosophus. 

TTT All this however, must be understood in 

III. AH this .^ carelessly or 

conjunction wiAper ^^,^^ ^^ ^^^^^^ ^^^^ 

^T^Nrror' ChXlar^ty would be sufficient to 

tance with the Deity, ^^^^^^^ „^,.„_ 

;r"fe Wy T;!:.:: *. d„,y, and a. .he 
rl°. lie Ts dihgent to Improve '^"y^XXiZ 

* This was written in tlie year 1797. 
tJohn, i.l8. andY.2a 



SECT. I.] Oil the Knowledge of GocL 21 

says the apostle, let him ask of God ^ xvho giveth to all 
men liberally and iipbraideth not.^ This spirit of 
prayer is not suspended on scientific researches or 
learned preparations, and seems almost the natural 
growth of retirement, when, in silence and solitude, 
far remote from the bustle of the world, and no longer 
bonie up by its passions and its vanities, the soul 
sinks into herself, and from a feeling of her own 
ignorance and weakness, pours out her cry to the 
great Author of her being. 

To imagine we can ascend to the knowledge of 
him who dwelleth far above all heavens^ by study 
without prayer, or by prayer ' without study, must 
generally be resolved into a disposition, either to ex- 
alt unduly the powers of the human understanding, 
or to overlook its proper use ; and is in the one case 
to err with the mere philosopher, and in the other 
with the enthusiast. To guard agamst both these 
dangers, from which retirement in itself affords no 
security, a few more particular remarks may not 
here be impertinent. 

Prayer, without a due regard to the vario.us disco- 
veries which God has made of himself, in his works, 
and in his word, may be construed into a censure of 
his infinite wisdom, as If what he hacJ already done 
was in vain and to no purpose. Nor is such a proce- 
dure less big with danger than it is with presump- 

* James, i. 5. 



22 On the Knoxvledge of God. [part i. 

tion; as it tends to subject the mind to its own vi- 
sions, and to the illusions of that spirit of darkness, 
who can easily transform himself into an angel of 
light. 

We can only with safety contemplate the Deity in 
those mirrors which he himself has formed and au- 
thorised. We may thus view him in the works of 
nature; for, as we are taught in a passage before 
cited, The invutble things of him from the creation 
of the xuor Id are clearly seen^ being understood by the 
things that are made. We may thus view him in the 
dispensations of his providence; and above all, let 
me repeat it, we may thus view him in his Son, who 
bears his express likeness. But should we avert our 
eyes from these instituted mirrors, to seek a deity in 
our imagination, we should find that, instead of re- 
flecting his true character, it would only exhibit, like 
a magical glass ^its ownsuperstitions and apparitions.^' 

The end of prayer is not to turn our attention 
from an)^ of the works or dispensations of the Al- 
mighty; on the contrary, one of its objects is to 
excite us to search and examine them with more 
serious diligence. The rvorks of the Lord are great^ 
and sought out of all them who have pleasure there-- 

* *^ The mind, darkened by its covering", the boc\v, is far from 
being a flat, equal, and clear mirror, that recei.es viid reflects 
the rays without mixture, but rather a magical ^^lass full of 
superstitions and apparitions." 

Bacon, vol. i. p. 132. Shaw's edit. 



SECT. I.] On the Knowledge of God. 23 

in; — he hath so done his marvellous xvorks^ that they 
ought to be had in remembrance*^ True philosophy, 
when kept in due subordination, is favourable to 
true religion, serves to show its necessity, and by 
correspondent analogies, to add new evidence and 
illustration to its doctrines. While they proceed 
together, they say the same thingj^ and the former, 
when it can make no farther advances, resigns up its 
disciple to the conduct of the latter. No good man, 
therefore, ought to reject the study of nature, because 
so many sophistical commentators have set up her 
light in opposition to that of revelation ; but rather 
should use his best efforts to rescue her from such 
impure hands by a juster interpretation. Still less 
ought he to reject the study of his Bible, because there 
may be a few enthusiasts who set it aside under 
pretence of a superior guidance. Our Saviour com- 
manded the Jews to search the scriptures^ because in 
them they had eternal life. The scriptures here re- 
ferred to, we know, were those of the old Testament 
only; which implies at least an eqvial obligation on 
Christians to search those of the new^ in which life 
and immortality are more clearly brought to light. 
Upon the whole then it appears, that it can never be 
the object of prayer to supersede the light either of 
nature or scripture, but rather to obtain that assistance 
which may enable us, in both cases, better to discern 
and improve \X.\ 

* Psalms cxi. 2 — 4. 

\ Nunquam aliud natura, aliud sapientia dicit. 

J" Let no one (says Lord Bacon) weakly imagine, that men 



24 On the Knoxvledge of God. [part i. 

On the other hand, study without prayer is expo- 
sed to equal miscarriage ; as it argues a mind pre- 
suming upon its own powers, or at best, grossly in- 
sensible of its dependence on the Father of lights^ 
who is wont to conceal himself from those who lean 
to their own understanding. Even the scriptures 
themselves are insufficient to conduct persons of 
this character to the knowledge of true religion; and 
when, in disdain of these infallible oracles, they com- 
mit themselves, which is commonly the case, solely 
to their own researches, as then they are left to wan- 
der without any certain guide, they are in still grea- 
ter danger of proceeding from one fiction to another, 
till they terminate in atheism itself. 

Of the truth of this remark, the present age, no 
less fruitful of monstrous notions than of extraordi- 
nary events, exhibits abundant and melancholy proof. 
What the fool only said in his heart. There is no 
God^ his more daring successors proclaim openly 
with their lips, and publish in their writings. Instead 
of keeping the glorious discovery to themselves, and 
passing by with philosophic indifference the religious 
prejudices of the vulgar, they display all the zeal of 

can search too far, or be too well studied in the book of God's 
"i^iord and nioorks, divinity and pliilosophy ; but rather let them 
endeavour an endless progression in both ; only applying all to 

charity, and not to pride; to use, not ostentation; without con- 
founding the two different streams of philosophy and revelatiofi 

together." Vol. i. p. IB Shaws's edit. 

* Psalm, xvi. 1* 



SKCT. I.] On the Knowledge of God. 25 

a proselyting spirit, prepare and send forth their 
missionaries, and abuse every literary vehicle, to 
convey the deadly poison into every corner of Eu- 
rope, 

He then who desires^to find God In solitude, ought 
to preserve a jealous watch against these impostors, 
and to block up every avenue to their seductions, 
lest, as the serpent beguiled Eve through his siibtilUj^ 
his mind should insensibly be deceived and corrup- 
ted, and, instead of meeting a Paradise, he should 
find himself betrayed into a waste wilderness ; a land 
oj darkness and the shadoxvof death^xvithoi{t any order -^ 
and where the light is as darkness.^ 

Blessed is the inan^ says the Psalmist, tJiat xvalkeih 
not in the counsel of the ungodly^ nor standeth in the 
way of sinners^ nor fAtteth i?i the seat of the scornfuL 
But if unhappily he should be so far engaged in the 
discussion of their impious notions, as to have de- 
prived himself of the power of retreat, let him be- 
ware of surprises, and of short and superficial views; 
let hirn not mistcike confidence for proof, or ridicule 
for argument; and he may hope, by proceeding with 
modest resolution and an ardent desire of truth, in a 
steady reliance on the divine guidance and blessing, 
* gradually to make his way through the mazes of 
sophistr}^ and at length to attain that elevated and 
vantage ground, whence the true intellectual and 

* Job, X. 21,22. 

D 



' 



I^j 



26 On the Knoxviedge of God. [par 

moral system of the true intellectual and moral 
system of the universe will open to his view with 
wonder and delight. 

As when a scout 
Through dark and desert ways, with peril gone 
All night, at length by break of cheerful dawn 
Obtains the brow of some high-climbing hill. 
Which to his eye discovers unawares 
The goodly prospect of some foreign land 
First seen, or some renown'd metropolis. 
With glitt'ring spires and pinnacles adorn'd, 
Which now the rising s\in gilds with his beams; 



[ 2r 3 



SECTION II. 

G;z the Knovjicdge of Ourselves. 

X HERE IS no precept of wisdom which has 
been more generally or justly celelTi'ated th«n that 
which enjoins the knowledge of ourselves; a pre- 
cept which was licld, even by pagan rvitiquity, in 
eiich high estimation J as to be a3cnbed to the oracle 
at Delphi. 

Though we should tVike this knowledge in the 
lowest sense, and refer it only to the body, it de- 
serves to be placed at the head of all natural science ; 
»ince we are more concerned to be acquainted with 
that little portion of matter to which w^e are so 
intimately united, than with the whole extent of the 
material universe: and should we consider it in 
relation to the soul, then it evidently transcends all 
knowledge of corporeal nature, and ought to be 
ranked, in point of importance, next to the know^ledge 
of God. We cannot, therefore, be surprised, that 
man, in his various composition, has powerfully 
engaged the attention of the inquisitive in all ages } 
that he has been a subject of so much curious and 
elaborate investigation, and furnished matter for 
innumerable volumes. 



28 On the Knoxvlecige of Ourselves, [part i. 

The labours of the physiologist, especially since 
the revival of learning in the sixteenth century, 
have been crowned v/ith remarkable success. Bv 
the help of anatomical dissections, widi other expe- 
riments and observations, he has acquired a more 
critical knowledge of the principal parts and mem- 
bers of the body, and has ascertained both their 
structure and uses to a degree of accuracy, which 
shows that his particular branch of study has fully 
shared in ^the general progress of experimental 
science; while the medical professor, by availing 
himself of the lights of the physiologist, has been 
better able to explain the causes and symptoms of 
diseases J and to point out their peculiar remedies. 

The metfiphysician has been equally diligent to m 
explore the »ature and operations of the soul, 
though, as would appear, with less reason to ap- 
plaud himself for his discoveries. His motions have 
been rather circular than progressive, and have 
sometimes recalled to my imagination a flock of sheep 
(cihit iiividia verbo),, which I was used to observe 
in a morning, coursing round and round the top of a 
hill, though it seemed, I suppose, to them, as if they 
w^ent straight forxvard. Something, hovrever, has 
been done; the essential difference that exists be-^^ 
tv/een matter and mind, and the impossibility that 
thought either is or can be an affection of th 
former, has been demonstrated in a manner so con- 
•lusive, as may bid defiance to all opposition from 



Wr 



::CT. II.] On the Knowledge ofGursches. 29 

the schools of Deinocrkus or Spinoza.'-'^' It must be . 
acknowledged, indeed, that this demonstration is 
purely negative, and leaves us still much in the 
dark respecting the thinking principle within us, 
both as to its real nature and its various operations. 
And after all that has been advanced by some 
to prove, that we may know as much of mind as of 
matter, it is certain, that the spiritual part of our 
composition is not so easily subjected to our investi- 
gation as a body, which, by presenting one constant 
appearance to the senses, may be examined at 
leisure; whereas the phasnomena of the former are 
fugitive and variable, and are often with difficulty 
seized for a single moment. This, undoubtedly, has 
been one chief obstruction to the progress of me- 
taphysics ; and perhaps it is fairly questionable 
whether any modem metaphysician has, upon the 
whole, given a more probable account, either of the 
origin of our ideas, or of our mode of perception, of 
judging, or of reasoning, than Aristotle and some 
other ancient philosophers have done. The great 
en or seems to have been, both wath ancients and 
\ moderns, that instead of a humble history, they 
have aitected to give a theory^of the human mind, 
and thus suffered nature to escape through the 
subtilty of their abstractions.f 

* Of the nriany excellent dircourscs upon this argument, 
i there is none, perhaps, superior to Dr. Clarke's Fize Letters to 
Dod'vvell. 

if" lie Vkho would philosophize in a due and proper manner, 
1 1 must dissect nviture, but not abstract her, as they are oblif^edtcj 
I'do who will rot dissect her." Bacon, vol iii. p. 587. Shaw's edit. 

D2 



30 On the Knowledge of Gurselves* [part i* 

This want of progression in the philosophy of 
mind we shall not much regret, when we consider, 
that the cause of virtue and happiness, and even of 
useful knowledge, is but little connected v/ith such 
disquisitions; that a man may think justly, act 
virtuously, and live and die comfortably, without 
any assistance from the ideal speculations of Plato or 
Aristotle, of Malbranche or Locke; and that, with 
all the metaphysical skill of these great men united, 
he may pa^s his days to no practical purpose, and at 
last die in a fatal self-ignorance. 

To know ourselves, therefore, in the important 
sense of the precept, is to know our moral situation; 
and to do this we must get properly acquainted with 
the following particulars : 

First, With the law of our creation, and with our 
defection from it. 

Secondly, In what degree, according to the consti- 
tution of the gospel, we must be restored to a^ 
conformity with this law, in order to our present 
peace and final happiness; and in what manner it is 
most usual for men to deceive themselves upon this 
subject. ^ 

What is the law of our creation, w^e may learn 
from the answer made by our Saviour to the scribe^ 
who asked him, vjhkh zvas the first commandment of 
all? To this Jesus replied^ The first of all the command* 



SECT. II.] On the Knoxvkdgc of Ourselves. 3i 

?nents isy Hear^ Israel^ the Lord our God is one Lord; 
and thou shalt love the Lord thy Godxvith all thy hearty 
and with all thy soul^ and with all thy mind^ and with 
all thy strength; which evidently implies an utter ex- 
clusion of all other deities, and an entire devotedness 
to the worship and service of the only true God. This, 
with the next great commandment, namely. Thou shalt 
love thy neighbour as thyself j constitutes that law of 
perfection, which shone in man with a clear and con- 
vincing light, till, by the entrance of sin, his power 
of spiritual perception became so weakened and 
depraved, that the light has since mostly shone in 
darkness^ and the darkness comprehended it not. 

This was eminently the condition of the heathen 
world, where the t:ue God was either not known at 
all, or not known as the object of our entire devo- 
tion, gratitude, and dependence; where the vulgar 
were occupied with a multitude of fictitious deities, 
to whom they were taught to look, up as to the only 
tutelar and avenging powers that presided over man- 
kind, though described under characters so fiagitious, 
that to resemble them, human nature must have 
sunk beneath its ordinary degree of depravity. And 
this, in fact, was the deplorable consequence of a 
devotion to such dissolute and ferocious divinities 
as their Bacchus and Venus, their Mars and their 
^Saturn; while the philosophers, instead of reclaiming 
the people from this base idolatry helped to strengthen 
them in it, by their own conformity to the popular 
religionj and their recommendation of it to othere. 



32 On the Knowledge of Ourselves* [part i. 

So far were the wisest, even among the Greeks, 
from any just acquaintance with the true God, and 
v/ith their duty towards him, unless we will suppose 
them to have spoken and acted in opposition to 
their own secret sentiments, w^hich would reflect 
still greater disgrace upon their name and character* 

The second great commandment, which respects 
our neighbour, lies more within the comprehension 
of human reason ; and a tolerable system of ediics, 
so far at least as our outward conduct is concerned, 
might perhaps be drawn from heathen philosophers 
and moralists, if taken collectively; for it does not 
appear that such a system could be extracted from 
any single indi\ndual. Plato himself failed greatly in 
several important points of practical morality; he 
prescribed a community of wives in his scheme of a 
perfect commonwealth, and in other respects gave 
much scope to the sensual passions; he allowed pa- 
rents, in some cases, to destroy or expose their 
children; and, what is more directly to our present 
purpose, though he endea^^oured to persuade his 
countrymen to be disposed towards one another as 
brethren of the same family, and ^s friends by nature^ 
he used a different language when speaking of the 
barbarians^ (that is, in the Grecian style of polite- 
ness, of all other nations) w^hom he held to be natu* 
ral enemies^ and the just objects of an implacable 
hostility.^' 

♦ Plato de Rep. lib. v. 



SECT. II.] Oa the Knoxvlcdge of Ourselves. 3;3 

To such defective views it must be ascribed, that 
a Roman historian says of Scipio^Emilianus, the 
cruel conqueror of the brave city of Numantia,* 
that in the whole course of his life, he neither did^ 
nor said^ ncr thought any thing but vjhat was lauda^ 
ble\ t and that elsewhere he represents the second 
Cato as the very image of virtue^ and^ in the tvhole 
character of his mind^ as approaching nearer to the 
gods than to inen; \ though we are informed by Plu- 
tarch, that this godlike Cato spent whole nights in 
drunken debauch, lent out his wife to the orator 
Hortensius, and at last laid violent hands upon him- 
self. Hov/ to imagine such actions to be consistent 
with so high a character I know net, unless it be 
maintained with Seneca, that it would be easier to 
prove that drunkenness xvas no vice^ than that Cato 
zvas vicious; § which v,^ould be a convenient way to 
raise men to perfection, by lowering the standard 
down to the level of their imperfections, and even 
of their vices. 

This artifice of human pride is not peculiar to 
heathens; it was practised by many among the 

* See Hooke's Rom. Hist. vol. v. p. 130—132. 

•f Nihil in vita nisi laudanduin, aut fecit, aiit dixit, aut sensit. 
Patercull's, lib. i. 

J Homo virtuti simiUlmus, per omnia ing-enlo diis quam lio- 
minibus propior. Paterc. lib. ii. 

§ Catoni ebrietas objecta est: at facilius efliciet, quisquis ob- 
jecerit, hoc crimen honestum, qudm turpcm Catonem. Sene- 
ga de Trar.q. Animij cap. liit. 



34 On the Knotvledge of Ourselves, [part x. 

Jews, as we may learn from Christ's sermon upon 
the mount* The law received from Moses, and; | 
written by the finger of God, became at length, 
through the veil upon their hearts, so much depra- 
ved and misunderstood, that there was need of the 
divine legislator himself to interpose in order to 
vindicate its purity and perfection from the corrupt 
glosses of the scribes and pharisees, and to expose 
the vanity of their pretensions to a legal righteous- 
ness; though such v/as the pride and obstinacy of 
these unhappy men, that all this instruction and 
warning was to them generally ineffectual. 

Should we from the Jewish extend our vi ew to 
Christian nations, and in particular to our own, (as 
it lies nearest to our observation,) we shall find the 
same propensity to bend the rule of duty to a con- 
sistency with our character and conduct. If we ex- 
amine into the several orders of society amongst 
us, it will appear, that they all have their peculiar 
moral standard, to which if they approach in anjy 
tolerable degree, it is sufficient, as they imagine, 
not only to satisfy the claims of their own circle, 
and of their country at large, but also every de- 
mand of virtue and religion, * If the labouring man 
is honest, sober, and industrious; if the merchant 

* Dnrini^ the middle ages, Dr. Robertson tells us, it was 
universally a custom, for *' every person to chuse among the 
various codes of laws tlien in fovce, that to which he was willinj^ 

to conform/' From the observations in the text it mif^ht be sup- 



f 



SECT. II.] On. the Knowledge of Ourselves. 35 

is fair and punctual in his dealings, regular in 
his domestic conduct, and occasionally liberal 
to the distressed ; if thef gentleman of rank and 
fortune, besides that high sense of honour which 
is supposed to distinguish his station, is gene- 
rous in his temper, kind to his dependants, 
and courteous to all; in short, if a man comes up to 
the law of reputation according to the sphere in 
which he moves, he will generally be considered 
by others, and too often by himself, as not far re- 
mote from perfection, and as an undoubted object 
of divine complacency. It was by this fashionable 
law, I suppose, that Hume judged of hiixiself, when 
Ije asserted, that " his friends never had occasion 
to vindicate any one circumstance of his character 
or conduct:"* and it was probably the same law 
which dictated to his panegyrist, Adam Smith, 
when he solemnly declared, that '' both in the life- 
time, and since the death, of his friend, he had al- 
ways considered him as approaching as nearly to 
the idea of a perfectly v/ise and virtuous man, as 
perhaps the nature of human frailty will permit." t 
That I here do no injustice to this canonized phi- 
losopher, in venturing thus to assign the principle 
upon which both he himself and his encomiast 
formed so high an estimate of his character, may 

posed, tliat the thick cloud of monkish barbarism and ignorance, 
which formerly sat deep upon this in common with other nations, 
was not yet entirely dissipated. Hist, of Ch. 5. vol. i. p. 378. 
* See his Life by himself f Smith's Letter to Strahan> 



36 On ihe Knowledge of Ourselves, [parti. 

appear from his own definition of virtue; which he 
makes to consist in *' those mental actions and 
qualities that give to a spectator the pleasing senti- 
ment of approbation;" and the contrary he deno- 
minates vice.* Such is the pious standard set up 
by some pretended sages, who affect to reclaim the 
world from its former barbarism and ignorance, 
and to raise it to its natural state of perfection. 



To guard against this, and other similar impos- 
tures, which are now become so common in the 
world, every man should labour to fix in his mind 
a just idea of the law of nature in its integrity. T^ 
this end, he should withdraw himself as much as 
possible from the contagion of error; and, with the 
Bible in his hands, and in the calm of recollection, 
should endeavour to exercise his thoughts on the 
being and perfections of the Deity; his necessary 
existence and absolute independence; his power and 
wisdom; his goodness and justice; and that un- 
tainted purity which invests the whole of his charac- 
ter, and exalts every other attribute. Let him next 
consider this glorious Being in the several relations 
he bears towards his rational offspring, as their cre- 
ator, their ruler, and their benefactor; together 
with the correspondent duties thence arising on 
their part, of the most profound adoration and sub* 
mission, the most entire love and obedience, as his 
creatures, subjects, and beneficiaries. Let him then 

* Hume's EssayS;, vol. ii. p. 06^, 8vo. 



SfiCT. II.] On the Knowledge of Ourselves^ o7 

dfescend to the earth, and consider his obligations 
as a member of the great family of mankind; the 
debt of justice, of candour, and charity, which he 
owes to all, whether they are his friends or his ene- 
mies, whether they are virtuous or wicked, his fel- 
low-citizens or strangers; with the particular re- 
gards due to his country, his family, or individuals. 
And lastly, let him reflect on what he owes to him- 
self, in order to secure his own virtue and happi- 
ness, amidst those circumstances of trial in which 
he is placed during the present life. After he has 
brought all this fairly to account, and thence formed 
his judgment of moral duty, he will perceive the 
immense disparity that exists between that charac- 
ter which will gain the full approbation of men in 
general, and the true perfection of our nature. 

Here the great expedience, not to say the neces- 
sity, of retirement, can hardly be disputed, when it 
Is considered how low the standard of virtue is 
generally fixed in the world, and how difficult it is 
to rise above the sentiments of those with v/hom 
li^e hold constant intercourse. And this difficulty is 
hot a little increased, when these sentiments are 
found embodied and exhibited in living examples, 
which is by no meani? unusual in the case before us. 
ipThCre is scarce any circle that does not boast a few 
I distinguished individuals, who, though their virtue 
is composed of merely human qualities, and is des- 

ute of every ingredient of true piety, are looked 

E 



38 On the Knowledge of Ourselves, [part i* 

up to by all around them as patterns of moral ex- 
cellence. Hence to form an idea of perfection which 
throws disgrace on these applauded models, and to 
preserve this idea unimpaired, under the daily cor- 
rupting influence of public opinion, evidently re- 
quires no ordinary effort, and argues a mind of 
more intellectual and moral vigour and elevation, 
than is easily to be met with in any rank of society. 

Nor is it less expedient to secure certain inter- 
vals of solitude, in order to determine our degree 
of actual conformity to the rule of righteousness 
v^^hen known, than to ascertain the rule itself. In 
the hurry of life, the state of the heart is seldom 
closely examined; and the external conduct is 
easily substituted for the interior disposition. We 
suppose ourselves to have fulfilled the first great 
commandment, at least in substance, provided we 
express in our general conduct a decent reverence to 
the divine name and worship ; and that we have ac- 
complished the second, if we behave towards our fel- 
low-creatures with strict justice, uniform kindness, 
and occasional liberalityo We may indeed equally 
impose upon ourselves in a desert; but I apprehend 
not in general with the same facility. When a man 
is left to his own reflections, and is deprived of the 
countenance and approbation of those around him, 
his solitary opinion is less able to resist the convic- 
tions of truth, he is more at liberty to search into 
iTie motives and principles of his conduct, and his 



SECT. II.] On the Knowledge of Ourselves. 39 

conscience is more likely to speak home to the 
reality of his situation. How many are there who 
are borne up in a conceit of their superior virtvie, 
by the judgments or flatteries of the world, who 
would soon be reduced to a mortifying sense of 
their true character, if this fantastic support was 
happily withdrawn from them! 

From these considerations it may sufficiently 
appear, how much it concerns him who would es- 
tablish in his mind a just conception of man as he 
existed in his original innocence, and of the sad 
reverse he has suffered, to secure a retreat from 
the bustle of the world, whose erroneous senti- 
ments, and seducing examples, so few are able to 
resist, while placed within the sphere of their im- 
j mediate influence. Nor ought a deviation from 
ordinary life, in pursuit of such an object, to incur 
censure while it is allowed to studies of far less 
importance or dignity. While the literary man is 
J permitted to separate himself from society, and to 
I devote his days and nights to disquisitions concern- 
^ ing ancient laws and manners, which bear little re- 
i lation to us in the present circumstances of the 
j world, it would seem unjust not to grant the same 
! privilege to the Christian moralist, who would 
i carry his researches up to the primitive state of 
I human nature, from which our departure is the 
source of all the evils that we either feel now, or 
' that we fear hereafter. Or while the virtuoso is al- 



40 On the Knowledge of Ourselves, [part i- 

lowed to wander to Rome or Athens, that, by af 
critical survey of the noble remains of ancient 
architecture he there discovers, he may be enabled 
to trace out the original models, we cannot fairly ^ 
deny to the Christian philosopher an occasional re- 
treat into shades and solitude, in order to look nar- 
rowly into himself, and to trace out, in the ruins he 
finds there^ the perfect model of our nature as it ^ 
came first from the hands of the Creator, and t 
thence, to ascertain its present state of degeneracy. 

While imperfect mten look only to an imperfect 
standard, they will easily sit down contented with 
themselves,- but it is impossible for him, who is 
m?ide duly sensible of the state of our nature in its 
origin, to contemplate his present degraded condi* 
tion without much self-dissatisfaction and an awa- 
kening apprehension of danger; and under this im- 
pression he will be forward to lend his most serious 
attention, while we proceed, in the second place, 
to inquire, 

II. In what degree, according to the constitution 
of the gospel, we must be restored to a conformity 
with the violated law of our creation, in order to 
our present peace and final happiness ; and in what 
manner it is most usual for men to deceive them- 
selves upon this subject. 

To the former part of this inquiry we may an- 



SECT. II.] On the Knowledge of Ourselves. 41 

i^er briefly, We must be that habituallv^ and preva- 
lently, which, according to our original state, we 
ought to have been without the least interruption 
or imperfection; ior though we are not now obliged, 
under pain of his final displeasure, to that absolute 
perfection of love and obedience to the Deity which 
was required by the law of our creation, (for then 
no one could be saved,) yet are we undoubtedly 
obliged, under the said penalty, to this temper and 
conduct in a degree which shall habitually prevail 
over every temptation to the contrary. 

This doctrine appears to be fully established by 
the Saviour of the world, when, to guard his disci- 
ples against the evil of covetousness, he tells them; 

I that No man can serve two masters; for either ht 
xvill hate the one and love the other ^ or else he will 
hold to the one and despise the ether; ye cafi no t(s2iys 
he) serve God and ma77i?non,^ And the impossibility 
must evidently be the same in case of any other 
worldly object; for no one, I suppose, will imagine, 
that a subjection to the pride or pleasures of life is 

i more consistent with the service of God than a pas- 
sion for riches. Whatever has the ascendancy in the 
heart of man is the god that he serves, and the re- 
ward will correspond to the service ; or, as the 

i apostle speaks to the Romans, To whom ye yield 

i yourselves servants to obey^ his servants ye are to 
whom ye ohey^ whether of sin unto death or of obe^ 

* Matt. yL 24. 

E2 



42 On the Knowledge of Ourselves, [part k 

dience unto righteousness ;* and again, in the san^c 
epistle, he tells them, that to be carnally minded^ 
(or, as the next verse explains it, to have a mind 
not subject to the law of God^J is death; but to be 
spiritually minded^ (which, by the rule of opposi- 
tion, must import a mind obedient to the divine 
law,) is life and peace.'\ Such is the doctrine of 
scripture ; to which reason if unbiassed, cannot re- 
fuse to yield its suffrage ; for nothing would be 
more contrary to its uncorrupted dictates, than to 
suppose that life and peace can inhabit that bosom 
where God is not seated in his supremacy, where 
the creature has usurped the place of the Creator^ 
where the eternal laws of rectitude are made sub- 
ject to the laws of corrupt passion and custom, and 
where the truth is held in unrighteousness. To sup- 
pose this, would be to violate all the measures of 
true judgment, and to offend equally against the 
light of nature and revelation.^ 

* Rom. vi. 16. -f Rom. viii. 6. 

I Though, after the joint testimony of scripture and reason, 
there can be no need of human authority, the reader will per- 
mit me to subjoin a passage or two, from a famous divine in the 
seventeenth century, as they relate to the scriptures above ci- 
ted, and the author is still held in high esteem by many pious 
people. Tlie passages are as follow: 

" The affections of our minds will, and mt^st be placed in 
chief on thlnga below, or things above; there will be a predomi- 
nant love in us ; and therefore, although all our actions should 
testify another frame, yet if God, and the things of God, be not 
the principal object of our affections, by one way or other, unto 
the world we do belong: this is that which is taught its so ex- 



SECT. II.] On the Knowledge of Ourselves. 43 

It is therefore a melancholy consideration, that 
amongst those who profess themselves Christians, 

pressly by our Saviour, Luke, xvi. 13. No sergeant can serve two 
masters; for either he xvill hate the one, and love the other; or else 
he will hold to the one, and despise the other: ye cannot serve God 
and 7n(i7n7non.** Dr. Owen on Spiritual-mindedness, ch. 11. 

*' To be carnally and spiritually tninded constitute two States 
of mankind, unto the one of which every individual person in 
the world doth belong*. And it is of the highest concernment 
unto the souls of men, to know whether of them they appertain 
unto. As to the qualities expressed by the flesh and the spirit, 
there may be a mixture of them in the same persons at the 
same-time ; there is so in all that are regenerate : for in them the 
fiesh lusteth against the spirit, a?id the spirit lusteth against the 
fiesh; and these are contrary. Gal. v. 17. Thus different contrary 
actings in the same subject constitute not distinct states: but 
vihere either of them is predom,inant, or hath a prevalent rule in the 
ioul, there it makes a different state. This distinction of states the 
apostle expresseth, v. 9. But ye are not in the flesh, but in the spirit. 
Some are in the flesh, and cannot please God, v. 8 ; they are after 
the flesh, v. 5; they vtalk after the flesh, v. 1 ; they live after the 
fiesh, v. 13. This is one state. Others are in the spirit, v. 9; afte^ 
the spirit, v. 5; ^alk after the spirit, v. 1. This is the other 
state. The first sort are carnally Tninded, the other are spiritually 
minded. Unto one of these doth every living man belong, he is 
under the ruling conduct of the flesh or of the spirit; there is 
no middle state ; though there are different degr%es in each of 
these as to good and evil. 

" The difference between these two states is great, and the 
distance in a manner infinite, because an eternity in blessedness 
or misery doth depend upon it. And this at present is evidenced 
by the different fruits and effects of the principles, and their 
operations, which constitute these different states ; which is ex- 
pressed in the opposition that is between the predicates of the 
preposition ; for the minding of the flesh is death, but the mind- 
ing of [the spirit ii life and peace, ^^ Id. ch. 1. 



V 



44 On the Knowledge of Ourselves, [par't i. 

there are so many who discover no signs of that 
predominant piety and virtue, to which it is one 
great design of Christianity to form its disciples. 
This is a deception of so fatal a nature, and so disr- 
honourable to the cause of true religion in the 
world, that to guard against it no caution can justly 
be thought unnecessary, and no vigilance too great. 

Among the causes of this deception, the brevity 
of this discourse allows me only to specify the fol- 
lowing, which appears to be one of the most 
general ; namely, a vain confidence in the privileges 
supposed to be attached to an adherence to the 
Christian profession, though this adherence be pro- 
duced by no higher principle than either, frst^ a 
faith merely traditional and customary ; or, secondly^ 
a faith that may be called historical and learned; or, 
lastly^ what I shall denominate, for want of a fitter 
term, an Antinomian faith. 

I. If we look abroad into our own country, 
which, probably, amidst all its disorders, contains 
as much piety as any other in Christendom, we 
shall easily discover that there are many amongst 
us, who hold their religion by no better tenure than 
what is derived from descent, the same by which 
they find themselves in possession of their estates, 
their liberties, and other civil advantages. They 
are Christians, because their fathers were so before 
them, and becavise Christianity is sanctioned by the 



SECT. II.] On the Knowledge of Ourselves. 45 

laws and customs of their country; and thus, with- 
out any perception of its proper evidence, they con- 
tract an attachment to it, with a general expectation, 
that on the whole it will conduce to their benefit. 
If they do but yield an implicit assent to the na- 
tional creed, and maintain an outward decency of 
conduct, they suppose themselves entitled, of 
course^ to the blessings of the gospel. They are 
sure that they stand upon as good ground as those 
around theni, and they cannot believe the divine 
severity to ,be such, as to whelm multitudes to- 
gether in one common ruin ; though they are plainly 
told, that the broad way^ whatever be the numbers 
that are found in it, leadeth to destruction.* 

It is happy indeed when the circumstances of our 
birth operate in favour of true religion, by a coun- 
teraction of those prejudices we are naturally apt 
to conceive against it, and thus leave the under- 
standing more at liberty to examine it with fair- 
ness, and the heart less indisposed to its reception. 
And yet these advantages are often either not im- 
proved at all, or no farther than to a bare specula- 
tive conviction, unproductive of that character of 
prevalent piety which is essential to true Chris- 
tianity. 

2. This is the case with the next class of Chris- 
tians to be considered, who take up with that spe- 
'^ MaU. vii. 13, 14. 



46 On the Knowledge of Ourselves, [part i. 

cies of faith which we have termed historicgl and 
learned^ and suppose it entirely sufficient if their 
attachment to Christianity is a result of their own 
researches, and not barely the product of their 
birth or external circumstances. And undoubtedly 
there cannot be* a more noble or useful exercise of 
the understanding, than to examine with impartiali- 
ty into the grounds and reasons of our religion, in 
order to know the certainty of the things xvherein 
we hai^e been instructed ; and. it is greatly to be la- 
mented, that so few persons, even of education and 
learning, direct their studies to this important pur- 
pose ; a neglect which will appear the less excusa- 
ble, when it is considered how much help is afford- 
ed to this inquiry by many excellent works that 
have been published on the truth of Christianity, by 
which the reader, with little labour or learning, may 
attain to a view of its evidence, sufficient to con- 
vince any mind that is not hardened by inveterate 
prejudice. But to imagine that nothing more is ne- 
cessary than such a rational conviction to constitute 
the faith of a Christian, is an error of fatal conse- 
quence ; and yet an error very incident to specula- 
tive men, who are not apt to reflect that it is with 
the hearty and not with the understanding only that 
we believe unto righteousness ;'^ and therefore that 
it will profit little to admit the truth philosophical- 
ly, unless at the same time it be embraced with 

* Horn. X. 10, 



SECT. II.] On the Kjiowledge of Ourselves. 47 

suitable affections, and attended with effectual pur- 
poses of universal obedience. 

The deception is likely to be still farther increas- 
ed, when to knowledge is added zeal, when a man 
steps forth as an advocate for truth, and encounters, 
perhaps, a degree of scorn and opposition in its de- 
fence ; for then he will be under a temptation to 
consider himself as a Christian of no ordinary rank, 
especially if, in the struggle, his endeavours prove 
successful. This is a snare, it may be feared, in 
which many ingenious and learned men are taken, 
who, after they have unanswerably vindicated the 
truth of Christianity against its adversaries, sit 
down without deriving any saving benefit from it 
themselves. 

3. There is another kind of faith with which 
some men deceive themselves, who imagine that a 
bare persuasion is sufficient to prove the existence 
of its object ; a conceit so very repugnant to all the 
principles of reason and common sense, that it 
might seem surprising how it ever entered the hu- 
man mind. All rational belief proceeds upon evi- 
dence, and is proportioned to it; and is therefore 
widely different from an opinion formed at pleasure, 
without any perception of its truth, either intui- 
tively, or by a process of argument; or without any 
countenance from credible testimony. Such a gra- 
tuitous belief carried into human affairs would be 



48 On the Knowledge of Ourselves* [part ii, 

accounted little better than insanity. What, for in- 
stance, should we think of a man, who, upon no 
probable grounds, should take up a persuasion, that 
a vast estate was bequeathed him, or that he was 
appointed to a station of high dignity in some dis- 
tant country; and then should argue the reality of 
the fact, merely from his own wild presumption? 
We should at once deem him disqualified for all 
the intercourse of civil life. And how much wiser 
he would be, who should conclude himself a child 
of God, and an heir of heaven, upon the bare 
strength of his own opinion, without any ground 
from reason or scripture to support it, and especial- 
ly without a strict regard to that great moral change 
which the gospel uniformly attributes to the heirs 
of its promises, deserves the most serious consi- 
deration of all those who are concerned in the in- 
quiry. 

The faith of the sinner is, in the first instance, 
not to believe that he w a saint, but that he may be 
a saint; not that he is pardoned, or that he is saved, 
but that he may be pardoned, and that he may be 
saved ; that a foundation is laid for his return to 
God through the mediation of Christ, who (in the 
language of our church*) hath made afull^ perfect^ 

* See the communion service. The same is still more fully 
expressed in the 31st article: ** The oflTering of Christ once 
made," it is there said, " ie that perfect redemption, propitia- 
tion, and satisfaction, for all the sins of the whole world, both 
original and actual." 



SECT. II.] On the Knowledge of Ourselves. 49 

and snficient s<icrifice for the sins of the -whole xvorld^ 
and hath procured that divine aid which might en- 
able us to participate in the blessings of this re- 
demption ; among which, repentance is one of pri- 
mary importance. 

It is by repentance that we are admitted into 
Christ's spiritual kingdom. At its commencement 
we hear a voice crying in the wilderness, Repent^ 
for the kingdom of heaven is at hand; and the same 
proclamation introduced the ministry of our Saviour 
and his apostles. We may further argue its impor- 
tance from its connexion with remission of sins. 
Jesus is exalted, to give repentance and forgiveness 
of sins ;^ and in his name repentance and remission 
of sins were to be preached among all nations^ 
Repent^ says St. Peter, and be converted^ that your 
sins may be blotted out.\ And St. Paul is sent to the 
Gentiles, to open their eyes^ and to turn them from 
darkness to light^ and from the poxver of Satan unto 
God^ that they might receive forgiveness of sins,\\ 
Lastly, to express its importance, if possible, still 
more strongly, we are told that without it our ruin 
will be inevitable j Except ye repent^ said the com- 
passionate Redeemer to the people of Jerusalem, 
ye shall all likewise perish.^ And that this commi- 
nation is generally applicable, may appear from 

* Acts, V. 31. t Luke, xxiv. 47. \ Acts, iii. 19. 

II Acts, xxvl 18. § Luke, xiii. 3. 



50 On the Knowledge of Ourselves, [part i. 

that passage in St* Peter, where the Almighty is 
represented as not xv'illing' that any should perish^ 
but that all should come to repentance; which evi- 
dently implies that all men are naturally in ^perish- 
ing condition, from which there is no' escape but by 
repentance. 

Of the nature of repentance I would only ob- 
serve (omitting Vvhat is more obvious) that it in^ 
volves a supreme regard to our Maker as our high- 
est Lord and chief good ; for being immediately 
connected, as we have now seen, with remission of 
sins^ and this with a state of divine favour and re- 
conciliation,* it must comprehend whatever in the 
disposition of the heart is essentially necessary to 
such a state. And since a supreme regard to God 
has before been shown to be thus necessary, both 
according to the nature of things and the constitu- 
tion of the gospel, it follows, that it must be inclu- 
ded in the interior change of which we are speak- 

* In'proof of this latter connexion, the two following passages 
may be thought sufficient. Blessed is he (sa}s the Psalmist) 
vjhose transgression is forgiven, ivhose sin is covered. (Psalm xxxii. 
1;) And the Apostle Paul thus speaks to the Corinthians: Alt things 
arc qfGodyHvho hath reconciled us to himself by ^esus Christ, and 
hath given to us the miniitry of reconciliation: to ivit, that Godi'oas 
in Christ reconciling the ivorld unto himself, not imputing their tres- 
passes. (2 Cor. V. 18, 19.) In the former of these passages, we 
see that a state of blessedness, and in the latter, a state of diiine 
reconciliation or favour, is connected with the remission or non- 
imputation of sin. 



SECT. II.] On t/ie Knozoledge of Ourselves. 51 

ing: and, I may add, constitutes one of its most 
eminent and dis^ringuishing characters. 

The doctrine of repentance, as above stated, ap- 
pears to me so agreeable to the best reason of our 
minds, so correspondent to the reality of our pre- 
sent state, and so solidly founded in scripture, that 
I conceive it impossible for any one born in a Chris- 
tian country, to do it entirely away without a long- 
practice of deceit upon himself. Either by invete- 
rate habits of vice, he must confound his percep- 
tions of moral good and evil ; or, by a perverse ap- 
plication to that miserable sophistry with which the 
present age abounds, he must learn that sin is no 
object of divine displeasure; or (if he still continue 
to read his Bible), he must work himself up into 
some extravagant opinion respecting the divine de- 
crees, and the absolute vmconditionality of the co- 
venant of grace, whence he may infer that nothing 
nozv remains for him to do, unless it be (and this 
only for his present consolation), to believe that all 
is already done. Though after his utmost efforts to 
impose on his understanding, and to stupify his con- 
science, he vrill probably find some secret sugges- 
tion will still remain, that neither his philosophy nor 
his faith will save him without that repentance 
which he vainly endeavours to set aside. 

But whether in the compassionate .goodness of 
God towards mankind it be a point really impos- 



52 On the Knowledge of Ourselves, [part i. 

sible, or only of uncommon difficulty, to make en- 
tirely void the doctrine in question ; it is beyond 
all doubt, from that ignorance and depravity which 
adheres so closely to our nature, that it is a doc- 
trine extremely liable to be weakened and corrupt- 
ed. Hence we can have no cause to wonder, that, 
even among such as boast themselves in the Chris- 
tian name, and who perhaps may be styled, by way 
of distinction, professors of the gospel^ there are 
those who, however they may be shocked at the 
general idea of impenitence, fall short, both in no- 
tion and practical attainment, of that repentance 
which is unto life; who imagine, that if they can 
but experience a sensible degree of sorrow for sin, 
and place a confident dependence on the merits of 
Christ, though unaccompanied by a thorough con- 
version of the heart to God, it is sufficient to au- 
thorise an immediate application of the promise of 
pardon ; and that to delay such an application would 
be to give advantage to their spiritual enemies, and 
to deprive themselves of that comfort to which they 
are entitled. Thus many, by catching at a prema- 
ture peace, expose themselves to the danger of 
losing that which would be solid and durable ; for 
although the gospel holds out a full and general re- 
lief, yet, being no less a display of the zvisdom than 
of the power of God^ it commvmicates its hopes and 
consolations only in proportion as men are qualified 
to receive them. It has its rebukes as well as en- 
couragements, its discipline as well as comforts, 



SECT. II.] On the Knoxvledge of Ourselves. 5S 

according to the several conditions of those whom 
it addresses. To the thoughtless and profane, it 
cries, Hoxv long^ ye simple ones^ will ye love sitn^ 
plicity^ and scorners delight in their scorning^ and 
fools hate knowledge? When it meets with a serious 
and awakened inquirer, it further humbles him 
with its convictions, at the same time that it in- 
spires him with its hopes ; it impresses a deeper 
sense of the purity and obligation of the divine law, 
while it points him to the sacrifice of Christ as the 
only atonement for its violation j and unfolds the 
nature and necessity of true repentance, while it 
again directs his view to the Saviour of the world, 
as exalted to bestow it in order to remission of sins* 
And, lastly, to him who truly repents, and em- 
braces its promises, and (if life be continued) mani- 
fests his sincerity by a course of humble and unre- 
served obedience, it speaks fully the language of 
pardon and peace. 

It is presumption to expect the blessings of hea- 
ven, out of that stated order in which they are im- 
parted; and this order is to be regarded no less in 
the dispensations of grace than in the course of na- 
ture. Christ is a prophet before he is a priest, and 
a priest before he is a king over a willing people. 
And Vy'henever this order is not observed, or is per- 
verted by false teachers, (which in our present state 
of ignorance and depravity may be expected, ^) re- 

* Acts, XX. ZQ. 

F 2 



34 071 the Knowledge of Ourselves, [parti. 

course must be had to the light of scripture, and 
even of nature and of conscience, which will some- 
times tell us more, if honestly interrogated, than 

seven men upon a high tower. * 

From what has been suggested under this head, 
It may appear, that true repentance is the only way 
of transition from the kingdom of darkness into the 
kingdom of Christ: that it involves in its very es- 
sence a supreme regard to God, which will not fail, 
(as there is opportunity,) to express itself in a pre- 
valent obedience to the divine will, whether it is 
manifested in revelation or in nature ; and, lastly, 
that this regard and obedience is the great test of 
our Christianity. 

He who can stand this test, is a true Christian; 
he who fails in the trial, may be almost^ but is not 
one altogether; he may not be far from the king- 
dom of God, but has not yet passed the sacred 
boundary^ 

Should it here be inquired, how it may be known 
whether xve have passed the confines? the question 
is both difficult and important, and can only be an- 
swered in very general terms, as may appear when 
it is considered, that the same external conduct 
may arise from very diiferent principles, and that 

* Ecclesiasticus, xxxvii. 14. 



SECT. II.] On the Knoxvledge of Ourselves. 35 

9 

the actual principles from whence it proceeds are 
very liable to be mistaken and unduly estimated. 
What then it concerns us to do, after looking up to 
heaven for illumination, is to call ourselves to a 
strict account, and to examine whether our sorrow 
for sin flow chiefly from a sense of its own native 
malignity and turpitude, and from the dishonour it 
casts upon God, in every relation he Bears towards 
us, as our creator, ruler, and benefactor; whether 
our profession of love to God be in conjunction 
w^ith deep reverence and humility, and an habitual 
application for pardon and assistance through a me- 
diator; and whether there be any flaw in our gene- 
ral conduct which implies a want of loyal subjection 
to the divine government. When this is done, 
should we still remain in doubt, it may be found 
our wisest course, instead of pursuing farther the 
investigation with unprofitable anxiety, to keep on 
with quiet diligence in our Christian journey, till 
by a gradual progression we are advanced so far 
into the interior of the kingdom of God, as to put 
it beyond all reasonable doubt that we belong to the 
number of its true subjects. 

He that believeth^ saith the prophet, does not make 
haste.* Exempt from that eagerness to which na- 
ture is always prone, he does not seek to snatch the 
favours of heaven, or to pluck the fruits of Paradise 

* Isaiah, xxviii. 16 



S6 On the Knoivledge of Ourselves, [paut i» 

before their maturity: he does not run precipitate- 
ly from sermon to sermon, or from one religious 
friend to another, nor dwell for ever with anxious 
retrospection on his past experience, from an im- 
patient desire of present comfort, or to obtain evi- 
dence of his spiritual safety; which is indeed a sa- 
tisfaction devoutly to be wished, and that every 
one who is seriously concerned for his salvation 
will seek with diligence, but which is likely to be 
soonest found by him who is more solicitous to be 
right, than to know he is so. 



I shall here add nothing to what has been offered 
in the former partof this section, to evince the ex- 
pediency of retirement for the purpose of self- 
knowledge. I shall rather close with a few remarks 
to shovv^, by vv^ay of caution, that when a seclusion 
from society is carried beyond certain limits, it is 
so far from answering the purpose now mentioned, 
that it acquires another operation, and rather tends 
to conceal a man from himself, both in respect to 
his vices and his virtues, his incapacities and his 
abilities. 

First, let it be observed, that in a life of much ab- 
straction we are in danger of mistaking speculative 
approbation for practical principle. In the calm of re- 



SECT. II.] On the Knowledge of Ourselves. 57 

treat, when the passions have usually less power to 
warp or obscure the judgment, the obligations of 
virtue may be acknowledged, and its beauty be con- 
templated VvUth a kind of enthusiastic admiration, 
till some pccasion of real business discover the illu- 
sion. It is then we often experience, that a vast dif- 
ference subsists between an ideal elevation of mind 
and a substantial principle of conduct, and that our 
fine notions and sentimental feelings are too sha- 
dowy and feeble to stand the shock of the interests 
and competitions of life. 

The recluse, therefore, who would duty estimate 
his virtues and capacities, must learn to reduce them 
to their practical value. He must not presume that 
his supposed wisdom will extricate him as easily 
from real as from imaginary difficulties, or that his 
virtues will acquit themselves as successfully under 
trials when they are present and actual, as while 
they were yet distant, and existed only in contem- 
plation. The speculative hero may prove a cow- 
ard in the hour of danger; and the sage philoso- 
pher, who can discourse in the most profound man- 
ner of human life in the shade, may fail egregiously 
in the discharge of its active duties. 

Considerations of this nature may serve to re- 
press the vanity of retired men, who merely on 
ideal grounds are apt to give themselves credit for 
qualities, of which upon trial they would be found 



58 On the Knoxuledge of Gurselves. [part i. 

either entirely destitute, or very slenderly provid- 
ed; who are ready, for instance, to imagine that 
they are humble, only because they are great ad- 
mirers of humility; or that they are candid and li- 
beral, because they are lavish in their commenda- 
tion of those qualities ; or that they are little less 
than heroes because they are struck with the con- 
templation of whatever is brave and generous. 

As retirement may thus conceal from its votaries 
theirtlefects, it may also in some cases conceal from 
them their abilities and virtues, which, for want of 
occasions to excite them, may lie inactive and dor- 
mant. Cromwell, vv^ho seems in a former part of his 
life to have turned recluse, was forty years old be- 
fore he handled a pike, and yet suddenly commen- 
ced a great general; he sat for some time undistin- 
guished in parliament, and it was only upon the oc- 
casions which afterwards arose that his extraordi- 
nary genius broke forth, probably no less to the sur- 
prise of himself than of others.* Whether it had 
been better on his own account, as well as for his 
country, had he never emerged from his original 
obscurity, and been awakened to a consciousness of 
his powers, I presume not to determine. Ximenes 

* '* As he grew into place and authority," says Lord Claren- 
don, ^* his parts seemed to be raised, as if he liad concealed his 
abilities till he had occasion to use them; and when he was to 
act the part of a great man, he did it without any indecency, 
notwithstanding the want of custom=" History of tlic Rebellion > 



SECT. II.] On the Knoxvkdge of Ourselves. 59 

v/as old when he was called from his cell, in which 
he had passed many years in all the rigours of 
monastic discipline, to act his part at court, where 
he displayed those talents and virtues, in the go- 
vernment of a great kingdom, which must be ad- 
mired by the latest posterity, and which, without 
such an occasion, might haye lain buried in the 
cloister.* And no doubt there have been multitudes 
in former times, who have dreamed away their 
lives, immured in convents, who, if they had found 
their proper stations in the world, would have ac- 
quitted themselves both honourably and usefully; 
and at all times there are some whose faculties, for 
want of social exertion, lie equally barren and tor- 
pid. Much of human capacity, like many of the wild 
and uncultivated parts of nature, is never wrought 
and quickened into action; nor perhaps is it desir- 
able that it should, unless men were at the same 
time endued v/ith sufficient virtue to direct the ap- 
plication. 

Upon the whole it may appear, that retirement 
and society are suited to contribute in their turns 
to self-knowledge. The former as being peculiarly 
favourable to the investigation of truth, will supply 

* " Pierre Martyr rapporte, qu'il le vit entrer a la cour avec 
un visage, un habit & un air, qui marquoient Tausterite de sa 
vie ; & que les courtisans le regarderent comme un des anciens 
penitens de TE^pte, ou de la Thebaide." Hist, du Card. Xime- 
nesf par Fiechier, p. 16. 



60 On the Knowledge of Ourselves, [parti. 

us with higher standards by which to try ourselves; 
while the latter is more likely (in some instances 
at least,) to show us our strength and weakness, and 
to detect those principles M^hich lie deep and latent 
in the heart- What proportion they should bear to 
each other for the attainment of the end here in 
view, must be left for every individual to deter- 
mine for himself, after a due consideration of his 
particular constitution, his habits, and his circum- 
stances. 



[ 61 J 

SECTION III. 

071 the Knowledge of the World, 

JtlOWEVER great may be the advantages af- 
forded by a life of retirement for the acquisition 
of self-knowledge, it may be thought they are 
more than balanced by its disadvantages in relation 
to the knowledge of the world; a science extolled 
by many as paramount to all others, and which they 
imagine can only be acquired by an intimate and 
regular intercourse with society. 

Under the knov^edge of the world, taking it ex- 
tensively, may be comprised these three things ; 
first, the knowledge of its exterior^ or of its visible 
manners, with the nature and forms of its business ; 
secondly, the knowledge of its interior,, or of its 
secret principles, viev,^s, and dispositions; and, 
lastly, of its value ,^ or of the rate we ought to set 
upon the various objects which it offers to our 
pursuit. 

I. The manners^ when taken separately from the 
principles which produce them, constitute the sur- 
face of life, and are so much subject to every breath 
of fashion, that in tliese western parts of the world, 
and eminently in the land wherein we live, they sel- 
dom retain, for any length of time, one uniform 

c; 



62 On the Knowledge of the World. [[part i* 

appearance. An Arab or a Chinese is^ the same 
now that his ancestors were two thousand years 
ago ; but should one of our great grandfathers rise 
from the dead, and revisit us, he would scarcely be 
able to persuade himself that he was in the region 
of Old England. Even the course of a few years is 
sufficient to induce such a change in our dress, our 
deportment, and other modes of life, as to give a 
new face to the country. The retired Englishman 
must therefore learn to content himself, as well as 
he can, with his ignorance of the shifting forms un- 
der which his fellow-citizens are pleased to exhibit 
themselves; and to resign this fugitive and local 
science to those whose situation enables them, as 
one of our poets has expressed it, 

To catch the manners living" as the}' rise. 

It must likewise be admitted, that the recluse is 
equally shut out from an exact knowledge of busi" 
ness, which, like all other practical skill, can only 
be acquired in the school of experience. Here then, 
as in the former instance, we allow the man of the 
world to bear away the palm without contest ; he 
must suffer us, however, in what remains, to dis- 
pute his claim to superiority. 

II. The knowledge of the world in the second 
sense we have stated, or to know the general prin- 
ciples and views by whicli it is governed, peculiarly 
belongs to him who has leai^ned to retire inward^ 



...^i. III.] Oh til e Kn o iv ledge of t/i e World. 6 3 

and to watch the secret workings of his own mind; 
for, since no direct access can be had to the motives 
of any one's action except our own, it is evident 
tliat, without this previous self-inspection, our 
knowledge of the world can be little more than 
theoretical. 

We might illustrate this, were it necessary, by a 
familiar instance. Suppose a person curious to 
explore the principles upon which watches were 
constructed, and that there was one^ and only one, 
of this sort of time-keeper which he could take to 
pieces, and so reduce its several parts, its spring, 
its balance, and its wheels, w^ith the regular adjust- 
ment of the whole, to a, minute examination \ it may 
now be asked whether he might not, by this method 
alone ^ come to understand the general nature and 
construction of watches ; and whether it is probable 
that a bare survey of the external forms of all other 
watches w^ould supply his omission in this instance ? 
Or rather, if it be not almost certain, that such a 
superficial view, after all that he could collect from 
it, w ould leave him much in the dark respecting the 
internal movements and principles in question? 
Apply this to the case before us, and the argument 
will conclude more strongly; since in the structure 
of the little machine here mentioned, an ingenious 
artificer might possibly introduce powers before 
unknown, whereas the principles of the human con- 
stitution are fixed and determined, and exist the 



64* On the Knozvledge of the World. [part i. 

same in every individual of the entire species. As 
in water face ansxvereth toface^ so the heart of man 
to man.^ This sentence of a profound observer of 
men and things, stands confirmed by the experience 
and suffrage of all ages. There is therefore no need 
to wander into foreign countries, to visit the courts 
of princes, or the huts of peasants, or to resort to 
places of business or amusement, to obtain a general 
knowledge of human nature in its moral constitu- 
tion and qualities ; he who looks narrowly into him- 
self will find it there. 

Nor is it by means of self-inspection thus known 
in general only, but likewise in many of its parti- 
cular modifications and individualities. Man is a 
being subject to continual mutation, and sometimes 
in the course of a very short period undergoes a 
great variety of moral transformations ; and he who 
attends critically to these changes, v; ill easily enter 
into the principles and feelings of others whose cha- 
. racter and situation are veiy difFerent from his ovv n. 
This facvdty of intuition is chiefly seen in persons 
of impressible tempers, and of vdiat are called 726^- 
vous habits^ who readily assume one character after 
another, and so by turns can take up every part in 
the drama of life. When this susceptibility is in 
conjunction with a philosophic spirit, little more is 
wanting to develope the interior of society, in all its 



SECT. iii.J On the Knowledge of the World. ^5 

various classes, and amidst the surprising diversity 
of its appearances. 

As this is a point not often considered, the rea- 
der may not be displeased if we insist upon it a 
moment longer. Much of the variety in the charac- 
ters of men proceeds from the variety of bodily 
temperament, which has sometimes been divided 
into these four kinds, the phlegmatic^ the sanguine^ 
the choleric^ and the melancholic; but which will bet- 
ter be understood by enumerating their particular 
qualities, than by these general denominations. 
The first may be described as cold^ thnid^ suspicious^ 
deliberate^ philosophic; the second, on the contrary, 
as xvarm^ presuming^ generous^ vehement^ pathetic ; 
the third, as irascible^ severe^ bold^ discerning ; the 
last, as a composition of these three, refined and 
heightened by imagi^tion. This is the complection, 
which, in the opinion of Aristotle, is attached to all 
extraordinary genius ; it forms the basis, according 
to the part which predominates, of a general, a 
statesman^ a poet, or a philosopher ; and without it 
no high degree of excellence, in any department 
of life, contemplative or active, is ordinarily to be 
expected ; and perhaps it is no where more dis- 
played than in that native perspicacity which looks 
through the spirits of men with very little aid from 
experience. 

To those who are neither endued with this power 

G2 



66 On the Knowledge of the World. [part i. 

of discernment, nor have much communication with 
society, the perusal of well-chosen history w^ill serve 
in a considerable measure to make up the deficiency; 
and in some respects will give them the advantage 
over men, whose knovv^ledge of the world is little 
more than what their actual intercourse with it has 
supplied. Our own personal observation is neces- 
sarily confined within narrow limits, and leaves us 
entirely ignorant of the very different forms under 
v/hich our common nature has appeared in past 
ages, and under v/hich it appears in ^ many regions 
of the earth at this day. He therefore who would 
obtain more extensive and varied views of mankind 
must resort chiefly to the page of the historian. 

If he would contemplate at large the political 
state of the world, let him direct his attention to 
general history, v/here he will see displayed the rise 
and progress, the decline and fall of empire ; the 
politics and relative situations, the wars and revo- 
lutions of nations. Or if he would inquire more 
distinctly into the genius, the manners and usages 
which have characterised different ages, and which 
present to a philosophic mind an object far more 
interesting than wars and politics, he may consult 
the particular histories and niemoirs, or other re- 
maining monuments, of the periods of which he 
desires to be informed. 

Should he confine his views to modern times, in 



SECT. III.] On the Knoxvledge of the World. (^7 

which we are most concerned let him read with 
care Thtianus^ De Comines^ Le Vassor^ Sully^ lye 
Retz; and, among our own countrymen, Clarendon^ 
Burnett^ Robertson; these will sufficiently inform 
him of the politics, the cabals, the business, and the 
general course of affairs, under the several memo- 
rable periods of which they treat; and sometimes 
with such justness of description, and strength of 
colouring, as to bring the mind almost into contact 
w^ith the persons and things represented. And 
should he M^ish to enter still more minutely into 
the principles and manners which at present pre- 
vail indifferent countries, he will be much assisted 
by a perusal of their established and popular au- 
thors, such of them in particular as have profess- 
edly vmdertaken to delineate the exterior of socie- 
ty, or who have employed their talents upon sub- 
jects of morality ; since such writers cannot long 
continue to be popular, unless their sentiments and 
descriptions are, in the main, a reflection of real life. 

To these sources of information may be added 
many well written books of voyages and travels^ by 
which he will be conducted through almost every 
region of the globe without either fatigue or dan- 
ger, and made acquainted with numberless particu- 
larities in the opinions and practices of the diversi*- 
fied tribes and nations of men, which otherwise 
would remain to him unknown. He is introduced 
into their houses, observes their domestic econo- 



68 On the Knoxvledge of the World, [part i. 

my, listens to their familiar conversation, and 
notes those discriminative qualities which add ani- 
mation and interest to the ever-varying spectacle 
of human life. 

While the retired man thus Views the world at a 
a distance, it is with this advantage, that he is able 
to contemplate it more at leisure, with his passions 
less agitated, and his judgment less biassed, than 
he could have done as a party actually engaged. 
It is an old observation, that a looker-on often sees 
more than those who play the game ; but in the 
game of life (if I may so call it), the retired man 
often sees more even than the looker-on. When the 
world presses upon the sense, though without im- 
mediate interest, its impressions are commonly too 
powerful to leave the mind at sufficient liberty to 
form a calm and impartial judgment. 

It must, however, on the other hand, be acknow- 
ledged, that books, unless happily selected, are un- 
faithful mirrors, and reflect images of life which 
bear little resemblance to the originals. Even 
among the more judicious historians and moralists, 
there are few who are entirely exempt from this 
censure; and it often requires a strict attention to 
our own experience, and no common degree of 
ability, to reduce the representations they give us 
to their just value. Such a correction may there- 
fore seem difficult for a retired man, whose experi- 



hEcr. III.] On the Knowledge of the World. 69 

ence of life is little; yet that little, when duly ex- 
panded by reflection, and skilfully applied, will ge- 
nerally secure him from any mistakes of a dange- 
rous consequence. 

But of all the mirrors fabricated by the press, 
and held up to the public, there are none more 
common, or more fallacious, than those fictitious 
histories which go under the name of novels and 
romances, where, for the most part, the modesty of 
nature is overstepped^ where reason is degraded in- 
to sentiment, and where human language and hu- 
man manners are almost lost in rant, aiTectation, and 
intrigue. When the world is viewed in such repre- 
sentations it is scarcely to be known again; instead 
of men and women soberly engaged in business or 
innocent society, we are presented with a race of 
beings who have withdrawn themselves into a re- 
gion of their own, and whose days and nights are 
wasted in fantastic pursuits, sentimental babble, 
and mad extravagance. For any one to take his 
ideas from such exhibitions, w^ould be no less an 
injustice to the world, than a disgrace to his own 
understanding. 

Among the many portentous evils that threaten 
both the present age and posterity, there are few 
which are more to be deplored than the general 
diffusion of these visionary writings; for what can 
be more deplorable than that young perons, instead 



70 . On the Knoxvledge of the World, [part r. 

of being taught to consider the present life as a 
state of serious trial, where much is to be endured 
and much to be forborne, should be flattered Avith 
the destructive imagination, that its great end is 
pleasure and amusement? What is more to be la- 
mented, than that, by wrong principles early imbi- 
bed, the few days of man on earth should be em- 
bittered by perpetual disappointment, and at length 
terminated by a querulous and miserable old age, 
without any cheering prospect beyond the grave ? 
This certainly is but ill to know the world even in 
point of present enjoyment, and to know it still less 
in its relation to the world to come. 

There is only one volume which describes the 
world in a manner perfectly unexceptionable ; or if 
there be others, they are such as are derived from 
it. In all the rest it is either flattered or disparaged, 
it is either transformed into a Paradise or into a 
howling wilderness; the Bible only represents it as 
it is, fallen indeed from its primitive glory and 
happiness, but not into hopeless guilt and misery ; 
not into a condition destitute of the light and grace 
of heaven, or, (to the humble Christian,) unprovi- 
ded with ample support and comfort. Farther, the 
Bible, if attentively studied, will supply the most 
sequestered hermit with a comprehensive knov.v 
ledge of man, both in his individual and collective 
capacity; thereh^ may trace human nature through 
every point of gradation, from the lowest state of 



SECT. III.] On the Knowledge of the iVorld. 71 

depravity to the highest attainable excellence; there 
society is presented to his view in every degree of 
civilization, and under almost every form of 
government ; there too he may contemplate the re- 
lative state of nations, in their commerce, their 
leagues, and their hostilities ; and all this delivered 
with a truth and simplicity which would elsewhere 
be sought in vain. 

It may appear then, from what has been ad- 
vanced, that the votaries of retirement may come 
to know mankind in every respect in which it is im- 
portant they should be known. And it is true, in 
fact, that some secluded men have displayed this 
knowledge in a degree which has scarcely been 
equalled by the greatest actors on the public stage. 
Who has drawn the world more to the life, in its 
spirit, its maxims, its pursuits, and its illusions, 
than Pasccd? Who has anatomized the human 
heart, traced the meanderings of its passions, and 
developed the secret workings of self-love, in air 
the various orders and conditions of mankind, with 
more exquisite ability than Nicole P And yet the 
latter lived always a recluse, and was a man of 
such extreme timidity as almost disqualified him 
for ordinary converse; and the former, at the age 
of five and twenty withdrew himself from society, 
and passed the remainder of his days shut up in 
his chamber, or prostrate at the foot of the altar. 
Such examples may serve to rebuke the conceited 



72 On the Knoxvledge of the World, [part la 

vanity of those men, who are forward to treat 
others as ignorant of the world, for no better rea- 
son than because they have lived abstracted from 
its tumult and its dissipations. 

It is indeed matter of some patience to observe, 
%?ith what airs of importance many speak of the 
knov/iedge in question, when it is evident that no- 
thing more is understood than what may easily be 
picked up from our ordinary journals. Some, it is 
true, proceed a step further, and by a detestable 
industry rake together a vile mass of secret history 
and anecdote, too scandalous to be exposed to the 
public eye, and upon this found a claim to be con- 
sidered as more eminently skilled in the science of 
life; which is just as reasonable as for a man to 
pretend to a superior acquaintance with the history 
of his country, from his gleanings in the annals of 
Newmarket, the Newgate Calendar, or the registers 
of brothels and gambling-houses. 

This affectation 'of placing the knowledge of the 
world in the rare possession of the earliest intelli- 
gence of its follies or its villainies, is an extrava- 
gance which can only be exceeded by the notable 
discovery of some pretended philosophers, that 
every man, without exception, whether Christian or 
pagan, civil or savage, is not only chargeable with 
some degree of folly or misconduct, (for this is not 
to be disputed,) but is radically and throughout ei- 



SECT. III.] On the Knowledge of the World. 73 

ther a fool or a knave; that one half of the world is 
the dupe of the other, and that all the seeming vir- 
tues which are scattered in it are only certain mo- 
difications of self-love, or, (as a great adept has 
taught us,*) the political offspring of Jlattery be- 
got upon pride. What the world would be, if aban- 
doned to its own corrupt propensities, I shall not 
dispute; or rather I am ready to grant, that in no 
very long period it would be as bad as any Hobbist 
or Machiavelian can suppose, and ripe for a second 
deluge ; that men, like demons, would be inspired 
with mutual malignity, and, like beasts in the ea- 
gerness of contention to gratify* their sensitive ap- 
petites, would bite and devour one another. This, 
however, is not the melancholy lot of man; God has 
never so forsaken the earth as to leave it without 
a seasoning of piety and virtue; he has alv/ays rai- 
sed up a few witnesses to his name, and endued 
others with those abilities and accomplishments, 
which have rendered them the defence and orna- 
ment of the places and times in which they lived. 
Nor are there wanting many distinguished exam- 
ples of both these characters at the present day; 
and he who does not discern them, or, if discerned, 
is unwilling to acknowledge them, has either no 
cause to deride the poor recluse for his ignorance 
or none to applaud himself for his own candour. 

' ManJeville. 

H 



74 On the Knowledge of the World, [paht i. 

III. To know the world in the third sense, or in 
respect to its value, is to know it as transitory, U7i- 
satisfying, and dangerous. This knowledge of the 
world, though evidently the most important of all, 
appears to have been attained by few, and ought 
therefore to engage our more particular attention. 

Whatever has an end is transitory ; and its dura- 
tion, though it should be extended through millions 
of ages, shrinks to a moment in comparison with 
eternity. This is a truth no less obvious than it is 
overwhelming, but which makes little impression 
without the help of frequent and serious recoUec- 
tion. To a thoughtless young man, even the short 
period of the present life seems a kind of immor- 
tality; he sees no bounds to his pursuits and his 
enjoyments; one object rises after another in along 
succession, while old age and death are lost m the 
obscurity of a far-distant horizon. Nay, so great is 
the illusion, that, after years of experience, the pass- 
ing intervals of life are apt to swell into a large dis- 
proportion ; a short series of prosperous or adverse 
fortune, a transient season of peace or disquiet, will 
so fill the imagination, and engage the heart, as to 
appear without limit or termination: such is the 
strange power we find in ourselves, and such is our 
disposition to give to our present state, whatever it 
be, a character of continuance. To correct this turn 
of 'mind, we should learn to view our situation at a 
distance, and to consider it as involved in the ge- 



SECT. III.]' On the Knowledge of the World. rs 

neral instability of the world, whose surprising 
changes and revolutions may afford us a feeling ad- 
monition, that there is no earthly joy which may 
not be extinguished in a moment, and no earthly 
fortune that is not liable to a sudden subversion. 
Above all, we should learn, by a contemplation of 
time in the light of eternity, to enforce the convic 
tion, that not only our life, but also every thing else 
under the sun, is no more than a vapour xvhkh ap. 
pearethfor a little while, and then vanisheth axvay. 

If to the want of stability and permanence in all 
worldly things, we add their tmsatisfactoriness in the 
possession, it must sink their value still more with 
every reasonable mind. That the world is unsatis- 
factory we all have experience, though there are not 
many who seem to be properly acquainted with its 
unsatisfactory nature. Hence the generality of man- 
kind persist in seeking their happiness from the 
same perishing objects, notwithstanding innumera- 
ble miscarriages and disappointments, which they 
rather choose to ascribe to accidental causes than 
to any inherent imperfection in the things them- 
selves. They cannot resist the persuasion, tfta* 
nches, high place, and sensual pleasures, would 
yield them full contentment, provided certain un 
.toward circumstances could be retrenched; and 
under this deception they return again and again to 
their former purpose, in hope that, by more skilful 
efforts, they shall be able to overcome every adven- 



5^6 On the Knowledge of the World, [part i. 

titious obstruction, and to extract that felicity which 
hitherto has eluded their pursuit. 

Of this fatal mistake, no one will ever be tho- 
roughly convinced, till he is brought to a proper 
knowledge of himself and his situation; till he 
knows that all creatures, as such, are unequal to his 
capacities of enjoyment, and that this disproportion 
is still farther increased by sin; that it is this which 
has subjected all sublunary nature to vanity,^ has 
perverted the just order of human life, tarnished 
its honours, and polluted its pleasures, and even 
drawn down a malediction on the very ground on 
which we tread. When he is fully acquainted with 
this state of things, and not before, his fond dreams 
of unmixed happiness here below will vanish; he 
will no longer strug-^le against the general doom, 
but contentedly, with the sweat of his brow, eat his 
bread, till he return to the dust whence he was 
taken. 

That the world is unsatisfactory, those perhaps 
are most sensible who are most conversant with it, 
as their larc^pr '^^"^"^"^\ZIZZ Zx me actuai aiscontenr 
. of its votarres mTsim^e strongly impress the con- 
viction; while its unsatisfactory nature is likely to 
be better understood by those who have the oppor- 
tunity to compare it more at leisure -th the moral 
state and capacities of ma«, and thence to not^ 
their disparity. ,^^_^,^,^ 



s»cT. III.] On the Knowledge of the World. V7 

Lastly, to know the danger of the world, is to 
be aware of its powerful tendency to divert the 
mind from the consideration of a future state. It 
is not indeed without its perils in lower respects: 
by its wrongs and its flatteries it daily reduces 
multitudes from opulence to beggary, from honour 
to shame, and from the vigour of health and 
strength to the pains and languors of disease; 
which, if considered, would greatly abate its value 
with every man of common prudence. But all this 
is nothing when compared with the danger arising 
from it to our eternal welfare, by seducing that at- 
tention which is necessary to secure it ; and whether 
this is effected by the business or the pleasures, the 
duties or amusements of life, the result will be the 
same ; if our hearts are in the world, we have no 
treasure to expect beyond it. When, therefore, we 
see men forward to embark in all affairs, and to 
mix in all societies, without any regard to their 
final account, we must charge them with that kind 
of infatuation which those are under, who, for the 
sake of a trifle, will risk an object of great and un- 
doubted importance ; nor will the charge be at all 
extenuated, however by their dexterity to assume 
the spirit and manners of those who are necessary 
to their purpose, and to shape themselves to all 
occasions, they may pass in vulgar opinion as masm 
ters of life* 

The principal scope of what has been delivered ii> 

H2 



78 On the Knowledge of the World, [parti. 

this chapter may thus briefly be stated. The true 
knowledge of the v/orld does not consist chiefly in 
the knowledge of its manners, its occupations, or its 
amusements; or of the interior views and principles 
by which it is governed ; for the former of these is 
merely superficial, and the latter is no more than 
philosophical; but it consists in that knowledge which 
may be called moral and religious, or that teaches 
us to set a due rate on every thing around us ; by 
which is not meant its price in the market, but its 
xeal use to the possessor. 

Now, as the everlasting perfection and happiness 
of our nature is, next to the glory of God, our chief 
end, every thing here below is to be estimated in 
reference to it j so far as it is conducive to this end, 
it is useful, and to be chosen ; and so far as it is con- 
trary, it is injurious, and to be rejected ; if indiffer- 
ent, (supposing any thing in this respect can be so,) 
it should be treated accordingly, and either chosen 
or rejected at pleasure. 

When this principle is applied to the objects of 
time and sense, their true rate will be found very 
different from that at which they are held in vulgar 
estimation. Of the amusements and pleasures which 
the world pursues with such avidity, many will be 
cpndemned for their inherent criminality; and all, 
even the most innocent, will be deemed of little 
worth, as well on account of their transitory nature, 
as of their dangerous tendency to divert the mind 



SECT. HI.] On the Knowledge of the World. 79 

from its greatest concerns. In like manner, the 
honours and riches of the world will suffer a repulse 
upon a fair encounter with this principle, and be 
found unworthy either to be sought or entertained, 
except as they may be converted into instruments of 
usefuhiess. 

If, then, the knowledge of which we have been 
speaking be such as we have stated, if it consist 
chiefly in a just view of the relation which this 
world bears to another, how few aKie there whose 
pretensions to it are solidly founded! Does he thus 
know the world, who thinks he has no other busi- 
ness in it than to eat and drink and rise up to play ? 
Or he whose entire occupation is to join house to 
house ^ and jield to jield^ till he is placed alone in the 
midst of the earth 1^ Does that politician thus know 
the world, who imagines that nothing is wanting to 
complete its felicity but liberty and equality^ peace 
and plenty? Or that philosopher who knows every 
thing under the sun as well as Solomon himself, 
except that the -whole is vanity? No: these are 
merely novices in the science in which they fancy 
themselves proficients, and may go for lessons to the 
simplest hermit, who is piously studious of the Bible, 
and of his own heart. 

And though we were to consider the world in a 
ner less serious or theological, and should view 

* Isaiah, v. 8» 



80 On the Knowledge of the Worlds [part r> 

it even in the most favourable light in which it can 
be placed by its fondest admirer, what is it but a 
great fair, in which a prodigious diversity of articles 
is exposed to sale, some for amusement^ some for 
ostentationy and some for use? Now suppose a wise 
man to go round the fair, and to note carefully its 
various commodities; what would be the result of 
his survey? Among the first class of objects above 
specified should he pick up a rattle, it will be one 
cheap and innocent, and such as may recreate his 
spirits when exhausted with more serious affairs. 
The second class he would leave to the vain and 
prodigal. From the third he would collect such 
articles as might suit his wants or his reasonable 
convenience, at the same time taking heed that he 
paid down for them no more than their just value. 
This is the man who knows the world, and how to 
draw from it all the real advantage it is capable of 
yielding. 



RURAL PHILOSOPHY. 



PART II. 
REFLECTIONS ON VIRTUE. 



SECTION I. 

Iti which it is considered hotvfar Retirement is favourable 
to Virtue^ from its Tendency to weaken the Imfiression of 
the World. 

XT is a law which obtains through every rank of 
existence, from the meanest plant up to man the head 
of this sublunary system, for like to produce its like* 
This, so far as it relates to the vegetable and animal 
kingdoms, is obvious and known to all; and how 
much the same law prevails in our intellectual and 
moral system, may appear from a few reflections on 
the contagious nature of human opinions and pas- 
sions; from whose combined influence arises that 
impression which is meant in the title of this section, 
and to which those who are thrown amidst the bustle 
and pleasures of the world are more particularly 
exposed* 



83 Retirement a Refuge to Virtue, [partii, 

There are few men who are able entirely to repel 
an opinion, or to admit it only according to its pro- 
per evidence, when it appears strongly impressed on 
the belief of others. It is in this general weakness of 
our nature that many dogmatical writers find their 
advantage, being aware that they have need only to 
express themselves with an undoubted confidence, in 
order to carry along with them the majority of their 
readers. But it is in a living intercourse with the world, 
that this mental imbecility is most discovered. Men 
of the strongest reason have frequent cause to lament 
this feebleness. When they call themselves to account, 
after conversing upon an interesting topic, especially 
if with a friend or a patron, or some person of a rank 
or character superior to their own, they too often 
find that their judgment has been either surprised by 
the partiality of aflfection, or awed by an undue reve- 
rence of authority, or disabled by the servility of de- 
pendence. And if such is the effect from a single 
mind, what must be that from many in conjunction, 
when their united influence is exerted in some popu- 
lar assembly, or in a nation at large ? 

It is not easy to account for the spread of many 
•speculative notions and philosophical theories, upon 
any other ground than that which is here stated, 
Some bold innovator advances a doctrine, or a system, 
with very little reason to support it; by a kind of 
sympathetic influence he communicates his persua- 
sion to others, these to many more, till by degrees 
the stream swells into a torrent whi^h no ordinary 



SECT. 1.] Retirement a Refuge to Virtue. 83 

mind is able to withstand. Hence the prevailing 
philosophy of one age has been different from that 
of another; at one period, for instance, it has been 
usual to explain all the phenomena of nature by 
occult qualities; while at another they have been con- 
sidered as nothing^more than mechanical effects, or 
the mere results of matter and motion. There is a 
fashion in what is called learning, as in other things, 
and which often displays itself in a manner no less 
exclusive and tyrannical. 

By a like sympathetic power it is that opinions of a 
moral and practical nature are commonly propagated. 
The ideas which are usually formed of the amuse- 
ments and pleasures of the world, are sure to find 
an easy entrance into the minds of unexperienced 
youth, and to induce a violent persuasion, that with- 
out balls, and assemblies, and theatres, and other 
nocturnal revels and fashionable dissipations, they 
must be deprived of all that is joyous and comforta- 
ble in life, and^eft to drag out a dull and wearisome 
existence. In like manner, the sentiments which are 
generally entertained of rank, of breeding, of family, 
of riches, and whatever else may confer distinction 
and consequence, are no less impressive upoji vul- 
gar minds; and how few minds can be found which 
are not vulgar in one or other of these respects, or 
which can preserve just ideas of these objects in op- 
position to prevailing opinion, and fairly rate them by 
their use, and not by that delusive splendour which 
is cast upon them by the imagination of the anultitude! 



84 JRetirefnent a Refuge to Virtue, [part ii* 

The contagious nature of the passions is experienc- 
ed, if not more extensively, at least more strongly. 
The hearts of men, like striilgs in unison, if one is 
struck, the rest respond in the same tone. In the pre- 
sence of a single fellow-creature under the influence 
of joy or grief, of hope or despondence, of courage 
or timidity, we feel ourselves involuntarily subject to 
similar emotions; and consequently, still more mvist 
our sympathies be awakened in the midst of society, 
where all the passions, and chiefly thqse which are of 
a vicious or malignant nature, act with redoubled 
vigour. 

Hence, if in the mass of human opinions there be 
less truth than error, arid less purity than depravity 
in the mass of human passions; and if, further, these 
passions and opinions, by engaging men in an ea- 
ger pursuit of the same objects, convert public 
life into a scene of vehement competition; (and 
that all this is the fact, I suppose no attentive and 
impartial observer will deny) it follows, that the 
general impression of the world must be unfavour- 
able to truth and virtue ; and that retirement, so far 
as it tends to weaken this impression, is an object 
of importance to all, and especially to persons of a 
yielding and infirm character; those, I mean, who, 
from a facility of disposition or unfixedness of prin- 
ciple, are very liable to be ensnared by false com- 
pliances, or, from a weak and irritable habit, to be 
discouraged at the least difficulty, exasperated at every 
appearance of opposition, and wounded before they 
are stricken. This morbid sensibility and feebleness 



SECT, I.] Retirement a Refuge to Virtue* 85 

of temper, when it is radicated, as it often is, in the 
natural constitution, admits of no perfect cure by any- 
human methods, and we are not to look for miracles; 
nor is even any sensible mitigation to be expected, 
unless the occasions of debility and irritation are 
avoided, or considerably diminished, by an abstrac- 
tion from the bustle of the world. 

Even men of the firmest nerves, and the most es- 
tablished principles, have need of occasional repose, 
in order to recruit their forces, and to recover the due 
tone both^of body and mind. The stoutest frame is 
impaired, and the hardiest virtues grow sickly and 
languid, by unremitted exertion ; and what Lord Ba- 
con says of silence, that it \^ the rest of the soul^ and 
refreshes invention^ is here more generally applicable; 
as it is in the silence and calm of retreat that all our 
powers, natural and moral, are refreshed and invigo- 
rated, and made prompt for further service. Like 
our mother earth, we require respite at certain inter- 
vals, lest by being over-wrought v/e become impove- 
rished and unproductive. 

Should there be any one who imagines his suffi- 
ciency to be such as to place him above this timid 
precaution, who sets both the toils and the temptations 
of the world at defiance, and who scorns retreat as 
an act of cowardice, let him not mistake his vain pre- 
sumption for a happy presage of victory, or boast 
himself in putting on his harness^ as if he had put it 
off. In that perfect model of prayer, in which we are 



86 Retirement a Refuge to Virtue, [part ii. 

taught both our duty and our danger, we are directed 
to ask, not to be led into temptation; which implies, 
that to pass through such a state without prejudice to 
faith and a good conscience, is a work of difficulty; 
that to avoid sin we must avoid the occasions ; and 
that, consequently, we should be extremely wary in 
the measure and manner of our intercourse with the 
world, where these occasions are most frequent, and 
commonly most dangerous. It is true, that at the 
clear call of duty, to deliberate is to be base ; and 
that when a man is thus summoned, he ought, (in a 
becoming diffidence of himself, and a humble reliance 
upon heaven,) to go forth nobly to the encounter; 
otherwise he may do well to listen to the counsels of 
a cautious prudence, and not wantonly provoke a 
contest in which many have been cast down xvounded^ 
and many slain^ who probably had more strength and 
wisdom than himself. To meet his enemy in the 
open field is hot the only part of a skilful general, 
who knows how to retreat as well as how to advance, 
and when pressed by a superior power, how best to 
defend himself behind his entrenchments. The 
Christian warfare is no piece of knight-errantry ; it 
is not by a rash confidence to brave the world with 
unequal forces, but soberly to oppose the wisdom and 
the power of God to its insidious or violent assaults, 
when they cannot be avoided without deserting our 
proper station. 

Indeed, to escape this conflict altogether is not the 
lot of any man, in any situation; there is no sane- 



SECT. I.] Retirement a Refuge to Virtue. 87 

tuaiy so inviolable, and no solitude so deep, where 
the world will not make its way, and find the means 
^o practise its allurements, and inject its terrors j and 
sometimes with more effect than in the midst ot its 
business or pleasures ; which shows, that the expe- 
diency of retirement, like all other practical rules, is 
not to be urged on the side of virtue without due 
exceptions, among which the two or three following 
may here be noticed. 

The first is, when the imagination is more seduc- 
tive than the senses. No one can be a stranger to 
the potency of this magic faculty, how it can heigh- 
ten, combine, and vary, all our perceptions; and, in 
the depth of solitude, (as the monastic St. Jerome 
pathetically bewailed in his cell at Bethlehem,) can 
furnish out more captivating scenes of gaiety and 
splendour, than any which human life actually exhi- 
bits. In this ideal world the understanding of a re- 
cluse, without due care, may suffer greater deception, 
and his passions be more incurably fascinated, than 
in the world he has left behind him; for, in the lat- 
ter, the things themselves, which have their fixed 
natures and limited operations, may serve in some 
measure to correct his mistakes, and regulate his ex- 
pectations ; whereas in the former, should his imagi- 
native power gain the ascendant, there remains no 
rule to which he may refer, and, like a crazy vessel, 
out at sea without compass or land-mark, he must be 
driven wherever his fancies or his passions may 
chance to carry him. When a man has thus lost the 



88 RetiremeJit a Refuge to Virtue, [part ii* 

command of himself, he is much fitter to be confined 
to some laborious occupation than let loose to his 
own reflections. 

Another case where retirement is seldom advisea- 
ble, is that of melancholy; by which I mean a fixed 
depression of the spirits, whether arising without 
any known cause, or from an undue application to 
some particular object. This state of mind is no less 
unfavourable to virtue than to peace ; it belongs to 
the sorrow of the world, which worketh death; and 
the sooner we can get fairly rid of it the better. 
Solitude is the nurse of this complaint; and though 
a dissipated life, which is the vulgar remedy, is 
often worse than the disease, and sometimes aggra- 
vates it still more, there is no doubt that a prudent 
change of circumstances, with a mixture of agreea- 
ble and innocent society, is a probable way to dis- 
perse the gloom, and to restore the unhappy sufferer 
to a comfortable use of himself, both in retirement 
and in public. | 

Of all the species of melancholy, none calls more, 
for our sympathy than that to which some good men 
are subject, when, for want of proper views of the 
grace of the gospel, and of the imperfection of our 
present state, they are ready to be overwhelmed 
with awful apprehensions of the divine holiness and 
majesty; or to sink down in helpless misery, under 
a sense of their remaining sinful infirmities, after 
all their efforts to surmount them; or, at best, to 



"1 



SECT, I.] Retirement a Refuge to Virtue. 89 

deliver themselves up to an unnatural discipline or 
a visionary devotion, the religion of monks and her- 
mits, which loves to haunt the obscurity of cloisters, 
or to wander in dreary solitudes. Let such, there- 
fore, who from a morbid complection of body or 
mind, are obnoxious to an evil so distressing and in- 
jurious, provide themselves an antidote in social life, 
and particularly in the conversation of persons of a 
rational and cheerful piety. 

The last case I shall notice, by way of exception, 
respects those to whom retirement is dull and lan- 
guid for want of employment; who in their chamber 
can neither entertain themselves with i)ooks, nor 
recur to resqurces in their own minds; and in the 
field can derive no pleasure from the contemplation 
of nature, nor find occupation in the labours of hus- 
bandry. Men of this character, instead of vainly af- 
fecting a life of abstraction, ought to seek in some 
public situation, or honest business, that impulse 
which is necessary to preserve them from lapsing 
into a state of unmanly indolence or peevish dis- 
content. 

These instances may suggest to parents and teach- 
ers how important it is, in the education of youth, 
to form them e«rly to a taste for solitude, and to 
store their minds with such knowledge as may ena- 
ble them to fill up an interval of retreat with advan- 
tage to themselves, and in a noble independence of 

the world. Thus disposed and qualified, they will 

I 2 



90 Retirement a Refuge to Virtue, [part ii. 

be prepared to find a refuge from the bustle of busi- 
ness, and the turbulence of pleasure, in still life^ 
where their agitated passions may gradually subside, 
and their better principles, wearied by a too long and 
violent exertion, may have time to breathe, and to 
recover their lost vigour. 

Hence also may appear the importance of an edu- 
cation in the country. He whose youth has been 
habituated to rural scenes, and those calm and inno- 
cent pleasures which nature there, fresh and untaint- 
ed, affords to her children, will probably retain the 
impression all his days; and under this happy bias, 
is more likely to find in retirement that repose which 
his imperfect virtue may often need, than if he had 
been trained up amidst the shows and dissipations of 
a great city. 



I 91 ] 



SECTION ir. 

Containing some Observations on those Means which tendy 
by a more direct and positive Influence^ to the Promotion 
of Virtue, 

X HE observations I have here to offer to the 
reader, I shall reduce under the following heads: 
first ^ of Education; secondly^ of Religion; and, 
lastly^ of Philosophy and History; only premising 
that the word virtue (as signified in the Preface) 
will be taken comprehensively, after some good au- 
thors, who have used it to express a spirit and con- 
duct answerable to the several moral relations we 
bear towards God and our fellow-creatures. 



I. EDUCATION. 

Under this head some modern philosophers, (who, 
in default of new discoveries, endeavour to amuse 
the world with a new language,) rank every impres- 
sion, whether physical or intellectual, whether imme- 
diately relative to the corporeal or spiritual part of 
our composition. According to this dialect it may be 
said, that we are tutored by the elements as well as 
by our parents and schoolmasters, and that we are as 
much indebted for our education to the pupilage of 
nature as to human discipline. All this, however, as 
it is contrary to the established meaning of words, so 



92 On the positive Means of Virtue, [part ii. 

it proceeds upon a principle which ought to be re- 
jected as equally false and dangerous; namely, That 
whatever we are, whether learned or ignorant, vir- 
tuous or vicious, it is no more than a necessary result 
of the whole of our situation; or of that series of 
moral and physical causes, to whose separate or com- 
bined influence we are constantly and involuntarily 
exposed. Yet, though we must reject this doctrine as 
utterly inconsistent with our present state of tri^l, we 
would not reject the truth involved in it; and are 
ready to allow, not only in this philosophical, but also 
in the ordinary sense of the word, that man, though 
not absolutely^ is, to a very considerable degree^ the 
product of his education ; and that his whole life 
usually takes its colour from the training and instruc- 
tion he receives in the season of youth. 

The truth of this position is so manifest from ex- 
perience, and is so generally acknowledged, that it is 
unnecessary to add any thing here in its support; and 
I would rather notice the obligation which hence ari- 
ses, on the part of teachers, strongly to inculcate on 
the minds of their pupils, those general principles 
which may serve to regulate their views and conduct 
in future life. For it is not, I apprehend, the first 
object of a liberal education to form a young man 
to any particular art or profession, or to carry him 
through the detail of any system whatever; but to 
supply him with such axioms, and fundamental know- 
ledge, as may enable him effectually to prosecute any 
art or profession he may think proper to adopt, and 



SECT. II.] On the positive Means of Virtue. 93 

to judge soundly of any system which may fairly of- 
fer itself to his consideration; and, above all, to inspire 
him with an ardent love of truth and rectitude, with- 
out which the greatest learning and talents are at 
best but vain and unprofitable ornaments. " 'Tis vir- 
'^ tue, direct virtue," says Mr. Locke, very emphati- 
cally, " which is the hard and valuable part of edu- 
" cation, and to which all other considerations and 
" accomplishments should be postponed."^ 

If such, then, should be the scope of education, it 
is to be lamented that no more regard is paid to it in 
an age w^hich boasts itself, and not always unjustly, 
of its improvements ; and that no greater advances 
have been made from words to science, from science 
to morals, from morals to religion. 

Scarcely is a boy weaned from nursery, before he 
is entered on the study of what is called classical 
learning, I am aware that the ground I am now upon 
is by many held almost sacred; and as a degree of 
enthusiasm is, I believe, most incident to professional 

* Locke on Education, § 70. In another part of the same trea- 
tise, where he describes the character of a tutor, he observes, 
that he sliould be one who, " knowing* how much virtue and 
" a well-tempered soul is to be preferred to any sort of learning 
" or language, makes it his chief business to form the mind of 
*^ his scholars, and give that a right disposition, which, if it be 
** not got and settled, so as to keep out ill and vicious habits, 
** languages and sciences, and all the other accomplishmtiuts of 
** education, will be to no purpose but to make the worse or 
** or more dangerous man." ^177, 



94 On the positive Means of Virtue, [part ii, 

men, I should not wonder if some of the learned 
masters and teachers of our classical schools and 
colleges were ready to exclaim, upon any seeming 
rudeness of approach to these temples of the muses; 
Procul^O^proculeste profani! and should the reader, 
from early prejudice, or the influence of public opinion, 
be partial to the same cause, I would intreat his 
equitable and candid attention, while I proceed with 
freedom, yet, I trust, without petulance or malignity, 
to offer a few remarks on a subject of so much im- 
portance.^ 

We should doubtless think it strange, were we not 
reconciled to it by long custom, for Christians to 
send their children to schools where they are chiefly 
taught the productions of heathen poets. Should it 
be urged, that these are works of much genius, and 
which exhibit many admirable models of elegant wri- 
ting and just composition, I would ask, in reply, 
whether all this, and much more, ought to be put in 
balance with their vain mythology, their defective 
morals, and their frequent obscenity ? and whether it is 
because we have no poetry in the scriptures of the 
Old Testament, in the songs of Moses, the dramatic 

* The Editors, fully convinced of the advantages to be deriv- 
ed from the study of the Classics, are constrained to dissent 
from the observations of Mr. Bates on that subject: and as 
their ideas are well expressed in the Eclectic Review, they 
refer their readers to an extract from that work inserted in the 
end of this volume. 



SECT. II.] On the positive Means of Virtue. 95 

history of Job, the prophecies of Isaiah, or the Psalms 
of David ;^ or because we have none of a Christian 
and domestic growth, that we must send our youth 
to pagan Greece and Rome, at the risk of a pervert* 
ed judgment and a tainted imagination? 

Lest this sentiment of classical danger should be 
rejected as the mere suggestion of a melancholy re- 
cluse, who has no relish for the beauties of Homer 
and Virgil, I shall fortify it by two great authorities, 
the one Christian and the other pagan, which no man 
who wishes to preserve his own character for taste 
and good sense, will be forward to dispute. The first 
is that of a most eloquent Christian apologist and 
Roman lawyer, Minutius Felix, who flourished in 
the beginning of the third century. *' Why," says he, 
'^ should I speak of the adultery of Mars and Venus; 
" or of Ganymede, whom his lewd paramour, Jupi- 
*' ter, placed among the stars? stories invented for no 
'^ other purpose than to justify men in their vices:"'}' 
and then proceeds to observe, that the minds of 

* That the contrary of this is true,-if the reader be not already 
sufficiently convinced, he may consult Bishop Lowth De sacra 
poesi Hebrceoruin. 

f Quid loquar Martis et Veneris adulterium depreiisum ? et 
in Ganymedem Jovis stuprum coeloconsecratum? Quae omnia in 
hoc prodita, ut vitiis hominum quaedam auctoritas pararetur. 
His atque hujusmodi figmentis, et mendaciis dulcioribus, cor- 
rumpuntur ingenia puerorum; et hisdem fabulis inhserentibus, 
adusque summae aetatis robur adolescunt, et in iisdem opinioni- 
bus miseri consenescunt. Min. Fel. p. 40. 



96 On the positive Means of Virtue, [part ii. 

youth, <=• when they had early imbibed this unhappy 
" tincture, retained it in their more advanced years, 
" and grew grey under the delusion.'' And elsewhere 
he thus speaks : " Such are the idle stories told us by 
"our ignorant forefathers, and, what is worse, which 
^^ we ourselves endeavour to cherish by a fond appli- 
^^ cation to the poets, who, by the general esteem in 
*^ which they are held, have done unspeakable injury 
" to the cause of truth: arid therefore Plato did wise- 
" ly when he banished Homer from his ideal repub- 
" lie."* My next authority is that of the great Ro- 
man orator and philosopher, who, in his Tusculan 
Questions, speaks to this purpose : " Who sees not 
'^ the mischief occasioned by the poets? They dis- 
^' solve the firmness of our minds: and yet such is 
^^ their attraction, that we not only read but learn 
" them by heart. Hence it is, that when to the vices 
''of domestic discipline, and the delicacy of an indo- 
" lent life, are added the fascinating charms of these 
'' syrens, all the nerves of virtue are destroyed: and 
'' therefore Pl^to did well when he banished them 
" from that imaginary republic, which he endeavoured 
'^ to construct upon principles the most agreeable to 
'' virtue and good order. But we, alas! after the 
'' fashion of the Greeks, are familiarized with their 

* Has fabulas et errores et ab imperitis parentlbus discimus 
et (quod est gravius) Ipsis studiis et disciplinis elaboramus, 
carminibus praecipue poetarum, qui p£rmirum quantum veritati 
ipsa sua auctoritate nocuere. Et Plato ideo preeclare Homerum 
ilium inclytum laudatum et coronatum, de civitate quam in ser- 
mone instituebat ejecit. Min. Fel. p. 39. 



SECT, ii.j On the positive Means of Virtue^ f7 

'* fictions from our infancy^ and this we are pleased 
" to call a polite and liberal education.'^^ Behind 
this double shield I fear no shafts of censure, whether 
emitted from the hands of the polite Greeks, or of 
those barbarous Latins, who (as Mr. Locke speaks) 
" scarce think their children have 'an orthodox edu- 
*^ cation without a smattering of paganism."'}' 

• Videsne poetae quid mali alTerant ?— Molliunt animos nos- 
tros ; ita sunt delude dulces, ut non legantur modo, sed etiam 
ediscantur. Sic ad malam domesticam disciplinam, vitamque 
umbratilem et delicatam, cum accesserunt etiam poetae, nervos 
omnes viilutis elidunt. Recte igitur a Platone educantur ex oa 
civitate, quam finxit ille, cum mores optimos, et optimum rei- 
publicae statum, exquireret At vero nos, docti scilicet a Grae- 
cia, hsec et a pueritia legimus, et didicimus : banc eruditionem 
liberalem, et doctrinam putamas. Cic. Tusc Disp. lib. ii. § 11. 

f Should it be alleged, in order to weaken the force of the 
above testimonies, that the case of the heathen classics is now 
very dlfTerent from what it was in the days of paganism; and 
that their corrupt tendency is sufficiently counteracted by the 
doctrine and morality of the gospel; in reply, I would observe 
with Horace, that a 'vessel is not easily discharged of the flavour 
"uith ivhich it tua* at first impregyiated ;\ and with Juvenal, that 
the greatest re'verence is due to a child, and that ?iothing indecent 
should be done, or even spoken in hit presence.^ We all know, or 
ought to know, that the human mind is naturally far more sus- 



t Nunc adhlbe puro 

Pec tore verba, puer; nunc te melioribus offer. 
Q^io semel est imbuta reccns, servabit odorem 
Testa diu. Ep. II. lib. 1. 

J Nil dictu foedum visuque haec limina tangat, 

Intra quae puer est. — 

Maxima debetur puero reverentia. Sat. 14. 

%. K 



9ri On the positive Means of Virtue, [part ii. 

And supposing, from the hereditaiy rank, or in- 
tended profession of individuals, an acquaintance 
with heathen classics should he judged expedient or 
necessary, it would seem more properly introduced 
after a youth has been well grounded in the princi- 
ples of Christianity, and received a good degree of 
general improvement, than made an elementary part 
of education. With such a preparation, and under the 
eye of a judicious master, Homer and Virgil and 
Horace might serve to evince the necessity of reve- 
lation, and to set off, as a foil, the doctrines and mo- 
rality of the gospeL 

Further, it may be observed, that whatever advan- 
tages may be supposed to arise from the study of 
Greek or Latin, they are much less now than in for- 
mer periods, when the works of the best human au- 
thors, as well as the records of our religion, remained 
locked up in these learned languages ; whereas, in 
the present times, he who is master of French or En- 
glish has access to all that is valuable in human know- 
ledge, and to all that is essential in revealed truth ; 
and to spend a considerable part of life merely to 
gratify a classical taste or a learned curiosity, to be 
qualified to relish the description of a horse-race in 

ceptible and retentive of evil than of good, and therefore thai 
to admit the former, on a presumption that we are able^ at plea- 
sure to expel or to correct it by the latter, is a proceeding* no 
less contrary to common prudence, than it is to the humility and 
diffidence inspired by true religion. 



SECT. II.] On the positive Cleans of Virtue. 99 

Pindar, or to attain to about half as much skill in 
Greek prosody as of old fell to the share of any or- 
dinary mechanic at Athens, must, to a sober man, 
appear a shameful prodigality of time. To trace the 
wisdom of God in the v» orks of creation, or to pro- 
secute inquiries which may help to diminish the evils 
or increase the comforts of life, is a rational because 
a useful employment. In such labour^ there is profit: 
hut the talk oj the lips tendeth only to penury.^ Under 
this impression, when I sometimes look around on 
our literary pursuits, it is not entirely without an ap- 
prehension, lest, from a nation of philosophers (as we 
have been denominated), we should dwindle down in- 
to a race of grammarians aijd sophislSc| 

* Prov. xiv. 93. 
f In the above remaiks on classical educatioiij the reader 
must have perceived, that the point meant to be censured was 
not the mere h^o^i^ledy^e of Greek and Latin, but the use, or ra- 
ther the abuse that is made of it, by an unseasonable or intem- 
perate appiication to heathen authors, and particularly to hea- 
^then poets. The writer is no enemy to learning; on the contrar}-, 
he is of opinion, tliat an acquaintance even with the Hehrev^y as 
well as with the Greek and Latin languages, (at least so far as is 
necessary to understand the original text of scripture,) should 
be cultivated as a part of Uberal education, by every gentleman 
of rank or fortune 1!! a christian country; and cultivated still 
more by every candidate for the church, who, whatever may be 
alleged in behalf of the laity, can have no excuse for the neglect 
of studies wliich relate so immediately to his profession, and 
which, there is reason to believe, would conduce much more to 
the ends of his ministry, than a coniincd attention to any modern 
schemes of divinit^^ 



100 On thepQiihive Means of Virtue, [part ir. 

From the grammar school, where a youth is left 
to drudge on for seven tedious years in hard Greek 
and Latin,* he is sent to college, where it is usual 
for him to proceed in the same course, though more 
or less varied with mathematical or philosophical 
studies; and often, too, I fear, with a diversion to 
that corrupt literature and vain philosophy which of 
late years has overrun a great part of Europe. I pre- 
sume not, however, in this last instance, to impeach 
the vigilance of our universities; only I w^ould ob- 
serve these two things; first, that no vigilance can be 
too great against an evil so spreading and pernicious, 
and which threatens to poison the very springs of 
knowledge and virtue; and, secondly, that whilst the 
apostles of barbarism and impiety persist in their 
malice, and still invoke in secret the genius of Vol- 
taire, of Rousseau, of D*Alembert, or Condorcet, 
It peculiarly belongs to the principals and tutors in 
our national seats of learning to counteract their de- 
signs, and to cjlll up in opposition ihc more powerful 
genius of Bacon and of I3o}'le, of Chillingwonh and 

* " When I consltlcr wlial ado is inudc about u little Latin 
and Greek, how many years ar; siunt in it, and what a noiso 
and business it makes to no [)iir|)ose, I can hardly forbear 
thinkinjj that tlie parents of cluldren still live in feur of the 
schoolmaster's rod, which they look on as the only instrument 
of education, as a language or two to be its whole business. How 
1 ls,e is it posssible that a child should be chained to the (iai* 
seven, eight, or ten of the best years of Ids life, to get a lan- 
guage or two, which I think might be had at a great deal cheap- 
er rate of pains and time, and be learned almost in playing T* 
Locke on Educations § t47» 



SECT. II.] On the positive Means of Virtue. 101 

of Butler, of Pascal and of Fenelon; to which dis- 
tinguished names might be associated that of the 
great author I have more than once cited on the 
present occasion, had he not unhappily advanced 
some notions which, contrary to his purpose, have 
given much advantage to our modern infidels; for I 
am fully persuaded, that Locke never meant to be a 
patron of the minute philosophers, and would have 
looked strangely upon such a retainer and disciple as 
Voltaire, to whom he bears no more resemblance than 
Hyperion to a satyr. Never would he have lent a 
willing countenance to that smattering in philosophy, 
which, instead of supplying those sound and salutary 
pi'inciples that are the only basis of a just and pious 
education, prepares the wa}' for atheism, and conse- 
quently for every species of vice and disorder.* 



* It IS a well-known observation of Bacon, that a smattering 
ni philosophy disposes men to atheism. I wish I could add, upon 
as good grounds, with liie same illustrious author, tliat depth in 
pliilosophy bring-s them back again to religion; for thoug-h there 
js doubtless a relationship in all truth, and the pure light of na. 
ture can never be at variance with the light of revelation, yet 
when it is considered how little of the former can now be dis- 
cerned by us, and how little we are inclined to improve it, I 
think it must be acknowledged, that men may be so extremely 
philosophical, even upon the principles of Bacon, that it may be 
necessary to call oiT their attention from physics to morals, and 
in some sense fi'om heaven to earth; from speculations on the 
structure and laws of the universe, however solidly conducted, 
to a serious contemplation of human life, and the relation- it 
bears to the life to come. 

K2 



102 On the positive Means of Virtue, [part, ii- 

After these f€w general observations, we shall now 
proceed to some particular topics, in order to show 
how much the cause of virtue depends on a right 
education. 

Those who resolve the v/hole of the human charac- 
ter into education as its sole cause, must consequent- 
ly resolve in the same manner all that is virtuous or 
vicious in that character. This large philosophical 
analysis we have already rejected. On the other hand, 
there are many whose views of education are much 
too limited. Some appear to consider it merely as 
an instruction for the body; of no use except to add 
grace to the person, and to fashion the exterior man- 
ners, or, at most, to cultivate those talents whose 
object is to gratify the eye or the ear; and which, 
when estimated highest, may be deemed rather agree- 
able than serviceable: while others, who conceive of 
it more justly, as intended to enlarge the understand- 
ing and to form the judgment in relation to useful 
arts and sciences, and the business of life, seldom re- 
gard it in its most important light, as a discipline to 
form the heart to religion and virtue. 

This undoubtedly, as we have more than once in- 
timated, should be its principal design ; and, when 
duly prosecuted, the endeavour will not often be in 
vain. Moral causes produce their effects as well as 
natural, though not ^always so fully, or with equal 
certainty. It is therefore highly important to employ 
them at a season when they meet with the least resist- 



SECT. II.] On the positive Means of Virtue. 103 

ance ; before the mind, besides its native ignorance, 
opposes its acquired prejudices; and before the pas- 
sions have gathered streng; i to defeat all the power 
of reason. It is particularly important early to incul- 
cate the principles of justice, a virtue which, taken in 
its extent, comprises every other; implying a disposi- 
tion to render to all their due, honour to whom honour y 
jear to whom fear ^ tribute to whom tribute^ custom to 
zvhom custom^ to God the things which are God's, and 
to man whatever the relation we bear towards him 
requires at our hands. As, therefore, this virtue is of 
such large comprehension, and as there is no moral 
ideaVhich is more easily conceived and admitted, it 
ought to be a primary object of education to impress 
it deeply and distinctly. 

A child, after the first dawn of reason, soon becomes 
sensible of what is due from others to himself and 
thence occasion may be taken to instruct him in what 
\^dM^ from himsef X.O others. Should his play-fellow 
strip him of his coat for no better reason than because 
he had strength to do it, or should wantonly deprive 
him of any innocent gratification, or from envy or 
malignity endeavour to lessen him in the opinion of 
his teachers or school-fellows, he would naturally re- 
sent such a conduct, and resent it chiefly on account 
of its injustice. .Whence, from his own feelings, he 
might be taught to respect the rights of his Uttle com- 
panions, to be tender of their happiness and good 
name, and, in general, that he ought to treat others 
as he should think it reasonable for himelf to be 



i04 - On the positive Means cf Virtue, [part ff* 

treated in similar circumstances. And when he was 
once brought to perceive the equity of this great law 
of moral conduct, it might be enforced upon him by 
a consideration of the divine displeasure, and by an 
actual experience of the disapprobation of his supe- 
riors, upon every act of violation. Under such a 
discipline, he could hardly fail to grow up into an 
honest man and a good citizen, according to the 
ordinary estimate of those characters in the world. 
And since we find the contrary characters are so 
often to be met with in every class of society, there 
is great reason to infer some gross error or negligence 
monrAoint^tiQ pedagogies and academical institutions. 
Here indeed a reform is devoutly to be wished, and 
might justly be exp'^cted, as it requires only a more 
attentive regard to moral causes, and their proper 
application. 

But the influence of education is not confined to 
the present world, nor to that imperfect virtue which 
is sufficient to render a man respectable to his fellow- 
citizens; it extends also to the world to come, and 
may be happily productive of that true virtue, or, 
under a less equivocal name, that piety, which, ac- 
cording to the gracious constitution of Christianity, 
will be crowned with honour and felicity in a more 
exalted society hereafter. Train up a child^ says the 
wise man, in the way he should go^ and when he is 
old he zvill not depart from it.'^ And the apostle 

* Prov. xxii. 6. 






SECT. II.] On the positive Means of Virtue. 105 

Paul enjoins parents to bring up their children in 
the nurture and odmonition of the Lord;^ which im- 
plies a probable expectation that a pious education 
will supply the ground-work of a pious character* 
This expectation derives a strong support from ex- 
perience. Nor am I much moved with the objection, 
diat many profligate children are the offspring of 
parents who stand high in a religious profession; for 
I believe it will be found, upon a full inquiry, that 
these unhappy parents, however they may inure their 
children to hear sermons, to sing hymns, or repeat 
passages of scripture, are in general grossly deficient 
in their attention to that moral discipUne, without 
which every other instruction is likely to prove in- 
effectual. If young people are not betimes put under 
due restraints, and accustomed to contrcul their 
humours and passions: if, instead of that prudential 
wisdom which may guard them against the tempta- 
tions of the world, they are only formed to those arts 
and accom^plishments which may recommend them 
to its favour; we cannot wonder, if, when they come 
to act for themselves, they refuse submission to his 
doctrine and authority, whose first command to his 
disciples is, to deny themselves, to take up their cross 
daily, and tofolloxv him. t Such a neglect to cultivate 
those seeds of truth and good conduct which may 
already be sown in the mind of a youth, can never 
be-xhe way to prepare him for the grace of a higher 
dispensation; but is rather to tempt Godwin the scrip- 

♦ Ephes. vi. 4 -. t L^ike, ix. 2J, 



106 •• On the positive Means of Virtue, [part ii, 

ture sense of the expression, and to offer up oae 
sacrifice more to vice and impiety. Nor ought this 
construction to appear harsh or improbable, since* 
without an extraordinary grace from Heaven, therel 
i^ obviously so much danger, lest a ycung man thus 
educated, when turned out into the wide world, 
should fall an easy prey to the sophistries of error, 
and the seductions of pleasure. Look into a neigh- 
bouring country, and see this awfully exemplified; 
see its youth, notwithstanding its boasted civic 
schools and institutions, delivered up, unarmed and 
defenceless, into the hands of their worst enemies, 
to sensual passions and infidel principles.^" 

Unhappy France! let thy example be a warning 
to other nations; let it teach them to watch with 
more vigilance over the great business of education, 
and to arm their youth betimes with those principles 
of pure religion and morality, which may enable them 
equally to w^ithstand their ov/n corrupt propensities, 
and the w^ily arts of that numerous tribe of sophis- 
ters who have long affected to pass themselves tmder 
the title of philosophers; who, through the medium 
of Infidelity and scepticism, have endeavoured (and 
with what success need not be told) to destroy all 
virtue in the individual, and all subordination in 
society, and thus to overspread the earth with vice 
and anarchy; who, like a late famous order in the 

* This was written in \797, 



SECT. II.] Gn the positive Means of Virtue. 107 

Romish church, have made their way Into all situa- 
tions, have infected our villages and cities, our col- 
leges and palaces; and (to add one feature more of 
resemblance with those courtly ecclesiastics) have 
shown singular address in captivating the favour of 
princes and great men, to whom, in many instances, 
they have proved still more fatal. Well, therefore, 
may we exclaim, with the royal prophet, Be wise 
now^ ye kings; be instructed^ V^ j^^dg^^ of the earthy 
lest ye also perish from the xvay.^ 

If the comparative merits of a public and private 
education be rightly estimated, it will perhaps be 
found that the former has the advantage on the side 
of talents, and the latter on that of virtue. In pub- 
lic schools a spirit of emulation calls up those intel- 
lectual energies which would probably lie dormant, 
or be more faintly exerted, without such a stimulus ; 
at the same time, those practical abilities, and that 
confidence of address, are formed there, which emi- 
nently fxt a man for the transaction of Teal business ; 
but v/hether the above advantages, whatever they 
may be, are to be put in balance with those temp- 
tations to vice which are usual in such situations, is 
a matter which ought seriously to be considered. 
Mr. Locke, in treating upon this subject, maintains 
the negative ; and is also of opinion, that every va- 
luable end proposed in public education, may be 

* Psalm, il 10—12. 



108 On the positive 3ieans of Virtue, [part it* 

sufficiently attained by a due mixture of private 
tuition and family intercourse : and I have no dif- 
ficulty in these particulars to subscribe to his opi- 
nion. ^ 

II. RELIGION. 

Under this head I shall consider, first,"" that gra- 
cious relief "wYixch God, in his infinite compassion, 
has provided for fallen man, through a mediator, 
and to which all true virtue must be indebted for its 
existence ; secondly, I shall consider some of the 
principal means by which this relief is actually com- 
municated; and, lastly, reply to an objection. 

(Ir) Since the original apostacy, man is become 
not only guilty, but depraved; and, besides the 
pardon of his sins, needs the medicinal grace of 
Christ to heal the disorders of his nature, and ena- 
ble him to exert his faculties in a due and spiritual 
manner, and thus to restore him to a proper use of 

* See Locke on Education, § 70. — There is a medium, how- 
ever, between a public and a home education, which may often 
be^preferable to either. This medium is, when a clerical or any 
other person of learning and piety, tog^ether with a competent 
knowledge of the world, undertakes to educate only such a num- 
ber of youth as may properly be comprehended within the 
sphere of his moral as well as his literary superintendence, and 
who, in all respects, would treat them as his adopted children. 
Under a teacher of this description, who knew how to unite ten- 
derness with a just discipUne, the pupil would enjoy every ad- 
vantage, without many of the inconveniences, of a tuition under 
the immediate eye of his parents. 



SECT. II. J On the positive Means of Virtue. 109 

himself. In the great business of education, of 
which we have been speaking, every method that 
can be employed, without this divine aid to predis- 
pose, and habitually to influence the heart of the 
pupil, however it might serve to supply him with 
those qualities which would render him amiable and 
useful in society, would fail to provide him with 
that virtue which must qualify him for heaven ^ and 
every subsequent attempt of his own to acquire this 
qualification, after he came to act for himself, 
would, without the same divine succour, prove 
equally inefficacious. 

The dependence of virtue on supernatural aid 
was asserted by some of the greatest men in the 
heathen ^v orld. Socrates urging Alcibiades to aban- 
don his vicious habits, and asking him in whatman' 
ner he supposed this might be effected, he replied. 
If it shall please yoii^ Socrates. Tou say notxuell^ 
answered the philosopher. What then should I say ? 
rejoined Alcibiades. 21??/ should say ^ if it shall please 
God. Well then^ concluded the pupil, If it shall 
please God,^ In a dialogue between Socrates and 
one of his friends, inserted am.ong the works of 

TTOJ^ et7ro(p£v^yi tovIo to tti^i a vvv x A A. 'Eyuys. S ITa*^; 
A A. Efltv /3»A>) 7Vy a ^mk^ccIs^. S. Ov >cof?.a^ ^^yn^^ o) AXxi- 
fiictds, A A. AAAflt TT^jg ;^pji Af/fiv; S. On tuv ^tc^ e^-iXr,, 
v-AA. Aeycd o/i, Alcib. 1. sub finem. 

I. 



110 On the positive Means of Virtue, [part ii, 

Plato, where the question is debated. Whether vir^^ 
tue can be taught by human i?2struction only? after 
Socrates had affirmed that it was neither to be 
ascribed to nature nor discipline ; Tell me then^ said 
his friend, in what other rvay men may be made vir-' 
tuous, This^ replied Socrates, I judge very difficult 
to be declared^ since virtue seems to me of a divine 
extraction^ and that good men^ in resemblance to 
diviners and those who deliver oracles^ are neither 
formed by nature nor art^ but by divine inspiration.^ 
In Plato's Phcedrus, Socrates intreats the gods to 
bestow upon him interior beauty. '\ Bias, one of the 
seven sages of Greece, admonishes men to ascribe 
to the gods vjhatever good they do.% Sextus, the 
Pythagorean, asserts, that God conducts men in their 
virtuous actions ; that all the good they perform 
should be referred to Him as its author ; and that He 
inhabits the bosom of the xuiseJ^\ These and similar 
testimonies, which are numerous and easilv col- 

M 

uYiTi f^oiB-YtO'Si yiyvovrut^ rtv^ otXXov t^ottcv yiyvtm acv a 

f^iv ^/i ^£iov Ti fActXitgoi' iivof,i TO Kl7)fic6^ xcci yiyvs^oti Tov? uyx- 
B-ov^ c-jOTTTi^ 01 B-iioi Tcov fA,ocvTlcav Koct ^^n^f^oXoyoi' cvlot yce.^ s/I^ 
(pv(rsi ToiHTot yr/V6yroii^ ovn n^r/i^ otXX iTriTtrvoict ik tojv B-auif 

yiyVO^USVOt^TOiiSTOl SifTtV. 

f Kiy.Xoi y£vi7^oii r ivrocvB-iv. 

\ OTi Giv ety^B-ov Tr^urrvig sig B-sa; ctvcc7P£iLC7n, 

11 Deus in b()iu:s aclibus hominUius dux est: in omnl, quod 

bene agis, auctorem esse deputa Deuni. — Sapientis mentem 

Deus inhabitat, 



SECT. II.] On the positive Mcana of Virtue. Ill 

lected, might serve to check the presumption of all 
"such as proudlv reject what the scriptures advance 
upon the necessity pi divine iufluence, to renovate 
and sanctify our depraved nature. 

Nodiing indeed will thoroughly reconcile men to 
this doctrine till they are brouglit to a due sense of 
themselves. While they continue to indulge a con- 
ceit of their own native innocence, or if nature has 
suffered any violation, that they are well able to re- 
pair the breach; while they degrade the laws of God 
to a^ level with their own powers, or exalt their 
powers to an equality with the divine laws; their 
natural pride will not easily suffer them to admit of 
superior assistance ; and the gospel, which holds out 
this assistance, must appear in their view rather in 
the form of folly and weakness, than of the xvisdom 
and poiver of God unto salvation. 

But however it may seem to the ignorant and the 
proud, it is this divine succour which has been, under 
various dispensations, ever since the fall of the first 
man, the great moral cause of all the real virtue that 
has existed in the world; of every right affection to- 
wards God, and of every emotion of true benevo- 
lence towards man. By this succour our common 
progenitor (as we have reason to believe) was re- 
stored to that moral resemblance of his Maker 
which he had lost; by this the patriarch Abraham, 
with all his spiritual seed in every successive age, 
was formed to the same image ; and we have ground 



112 On the positive Means of Virtue, [part ii* 

to hope, from prophetic declarations, that the tIJ 
is hastening, when, by a more general effusion of 
divine influence, there will be a multiplication of 
this image in the v/orld beyond what has hitherto ■ 
been known. 

(II.) Let us Xit^X proceed to consider some of the 
principal means, by which the heavenly succour nov/ 
spoken of, is actually communicated. 

Man, in his first creation, was formed in the 
image of his Maker; but, in his second or spiritual 
creation, this image is not restored without a process 
and means which before had no place. And here 
the natural and moral worlds present a striking point 
of resemblance; for as the plants and fruits v/ith 
which the eardi was originally ciolhed by the hand 
of the Creator in the space of a single day, require 
now a much longer period, and a succession of vari- 
ous secondary causes, before they are brought to 
their maturity; so those virtues and graces, with 
which the bum-an soul found herself invcsied upon 
her very entrance into being, are now produced in a 
gradual manner, and by certain instituted mediums; 
among which, the serious perusal of ^crlpiure^ medita- 
tion^ prayer^ and a due attendance upon public wor" 
shipj deserve our particular notice. 

1. Upon the first of these let it be observed, that 
truth and virtue stand in a near relation to each 
other, and differ no otherwise than as the seal from 



I 



SECT. II.] On the positive Mea7\s of Virtue. 113 

its impression.^ Hence Christians are said to be 
sanctified through the truth y'\ to be purified in obey- 
ing t/ie iruth;'i^ and to be born again, 7iot of corrupti* 
ble seed^ but of incorruptible^ bij the xvord of God^''\ 
which is the word of triith.^ The energy of this 
word is emphatically expressed in the following 
passage of the prophet Jeremiah; Is not my xvord 
like as a fre^ saith tlie Lord^ and like a hammer that 
breaketh the rock in pieces?^. And the apostle Paul 
thus addresses the Thessalonians: When ye received 
the xvord of God^ xvhich ye heard of tis^ ye received it 
not as the word of men^ but {as it is in trutli) the 
xvord of God^ xvhich eff^ectua'ly xvorketh also in you 
that * believe."^^ Again, the same apostle, in his 
second epistle to Timothy, pronounces a most ex- 
cellent and comprehensive eulogium upon the scrip- 
tures of the Old Testament, which certainly is not 
less applicable to those of the New. The words are 
these: all scripture is given by inspiration of God^ 
and is profitable^ not only for doctrine to teach us 
our duty, but also for reproof or conviction of the 
contrary ; in the next place for correction or amend- 
ment; and, lastly, for m.5?n/c^i(5^2,'^ or a right method 
or institution for growth in righteousness; that the 
man of God may be perfect^^nd thoroughly furnished 
to all go<sd works.'\ Which corresponds to the decla- 
ration of the Psalmist: The law of the Lord rs per- 
fect^ converting the i^oul; the testimony of the Lord is 

* Lord Bacfn. f J^^^i"* ^vii. 19. ^ 1 Pet i. 22. 

II 1 Pet. i. 23. § J" .n, xvii. 17. H Jer xxiii. 29. 

** 1 Thess. ii. 13. * Uccihixv, ■\2Tlm. iii. 16, IT. 

L2 



114 On the positive Means of Virtue, [part ii. 

sure^ making rvise the simple*'^ Unlike the great 
mass of human compositions, the Scriptures, under 
a general plainness of expression, are pregnant with 
such light and efficacy, that, (as Simplicius speaks of 
the writings of Epictetus, though with far less rea- 
son,) should any reader remain unaffected with them^ 
it is probable that nothing will awaken him till he 
comes to the tribunal of the invisible world, 

2. To a perusal of Scripture must be added medi- 
tation^ than which there is no duty more necessary 
to be enforced, since there is none of more impor- 
tance, or to which the mind has a stronger natural 
repugnance* Men in general had rather read twenty 
volumes, and hear many more sermons than srt 
down half an hour to close solitary meditation; 
though, without this, all that they can hear or read 
is likely to profit them little. It is by meditation that 
the truth lodged in the understanding is digested and 
turned into nourishment; by this the mind is brought 
into a kind of contact with its object, and receives 
its full impression. When David would describe a 
man who, like a tree planted by the rivers of water 
brings forth his fruit in his season^ we hear of one 
whose delight is in the laiu of the Lord^ and who me^- 
ditates upon it day and night,'\ And if such was the 
ejEFect of this spiritual exercise under the former 
economy, which exhibited only a shadow of good 
things to come^ what must it be now, when life and 

f Ps. xix. 7 • t Ps. i. 2, 3: 



"SECT. II.] On the positive Megns of Virtue. 115 

immortality are brought to light by the gospel? The 
pious Christian, who frequently contemplates in this 
mirror the glory of the Lord^ will be changed into 
the same image^ from glory to glory.^ 

3. Prayer is the offspring of meditation. While I 
was musings says the Psalmist, the f re burned; then 
spake I xvith rny tongue,'\ And as meditation pro- 
duces prayer, so prayer exalts meditation, as it draws 
down upon it the light and grace of heaven, without 
which, (as we have just observed,) there is nothing 
truly holy either in our thoughts or actions. If any 
one be so inattentive in reading his Bible as to be ig- 
norant of what is here advanced, I w^ould refer him 
(should he be a member of the established church) 
back to what he was taught in his catechism.J And 
even the wiser heathens, to whc5m perhaps he is more 
disposed to listen than either to his Bible or to th-c 
church, might teach him in general, and this by their 
example as well as doctrine, the expediency of prayer 
to engage the divine favour and assistance, Pliny the 
younger introduces his famous panegyric^ by observ- 
ing to the Roman senate, That it xvas a rule with their 

* 2 Cor. iii. 18. f Ps. xxxix. 3. 

J After the catechumen has repeated a comprehensive sum- 
mary of his duty, in thought, word, and action, towards God, 
his neighbour, and himself, he is thus parentally admonished: 
« My good child, know this, that thou art not able to do these 
things of thyself, nor to walk in the commandments of God, 
nor to serve him, without his special grace ; which thou must 
learn at all times to call for by diligent prayerP 



116 On the positive Means of Virtue* [part lu 

forefathers to enter upon no important action or dis* 
course without prayer^ from the just persuasion they 
hady that men could do nothing -wisely or happily with- 
out the assistance of fhe immortal gods. "^ To this ge- 
neral testimony I shall add the following excellent 
specimen of heathen devotion, whose language a 
Christian might adopt without scruple: / beseech 
thee^ Almighty Lord^ xvho art the author and guide 
of that reason which dwells in us^ that thou wouldest 
keep us mindful of our high original^ and aid our en-' 
deavGurs to subdue our irregular appetites and unrea- 
sonable passions^ to rectify our understandings ^ and 
by the light of truth to arrive at a imion with essen- 
tial goodness, Ajid^ in the last place ^ I pray thee^ 
Saviour ;\ to scatter those clouds which hang over our 
mindsy that^ as Homer speaks ^ we may be able to dis» 
cern clearly both God and man,% Such prayer, if of- 
fered to the true God, who is represented in Scrip- 
ture as the Saviour of all men^^ can never be in vain; 
and it contains a just rebuke to those who, under the 
light of Christianity, either totally neglect a duty so 

* Bene ac sapienter, patres conscrlpti, majores institiierunt, 
ut renini agendarum, ita dicendi initium a precationibiis capere, 
quod nihil rite nihilque providenter^ homines sine deorum im- 
mortalium ope, consilio, honore, auspicarentur. 

I SimpHcius at the close of his Commentary on Epictetus. 

II ** Therefore we both labour, and suffer reproach, because 
we trust in the living God, who is the Saviour of all men, spe- 
cially of those that believe." 1 Tim. iv. 10. 



SECT. II.] On the positive Means of Virtue. 117 

essential to nil religion, or content themselves with 
the profane litany of Horace: 

lioc satis est orare J.ovem, qui donat cl aufert 

Det vitam, det opes, aequum mi animiim ipse parabo. 

4. The last medium we have proposed to notice, 
through which we may expect the gracious influence 
of heaven, is public xuorship. There is something in 
the very act of joining together in prayer and praise 
to the great Author of the universe, which has a na- 
tural tendency to elevate the mind above the low in- 
terests and passions of the present life. While a com- 
pany of immortal beings present themselves in so- 
lemn worship before the eternal / AM; while in 
lowly prostration, under a consciousness of guilt and 
misery, they supplicate for mercy; or in humble ado- 
ration, with united voices, as the sound of many wa^ 
ters^ ascribe blessings and honour^ and glory^ and 
poiver^ unto Him that sitteth i(pon the throne; though 
this alone is not sufficient to touch the heart v/ith true 
devotion, it must powerfully tend to compose its ir- 
regular motions, and to render it more susceptible 
of holy impressions; as the agitated spirit of Elisha, 
of which we read in the second book of Kings, was 
calmed by the notes of a minstrel, and prepared for 
divine inspirations.^ Even Saul, when he came among 
the prophets, caught a portion of their spirit, and he 
also prophesied.^ And probably there are few per» 

* 2 Kings, iii. 1-^, 15, 

t 1 Sain. X. 10—13. and xix. 23, 24, 



118 On the positive Means of Virtue, [part ii. 

sons who are entirely insensible to that happy sym- 
pathy which attends real piety, especially when it acts 
with collectecL force in the society of good men, or in 
a truly devout congregation.^ 

Hence arises a strong argument for a diligent at- 
tendance upon religious assemHlies; while a much 
stronger is drawn from the promise of Christ, That 
xvhere two or three shall meet together in his narne^ 
he will be there in the ynid^t of them: '\ which cer- 
tainly intends more than his essential presence, (for 
so he is present in all places by his divine nature,) 
and must imply those gracious communications which 
are the fruit of his sacrifice and intercession. 

It may here farther be observed, that a neglect of 
public worship is particularly inexcusable in this 
country, where it is conducted with such a variety, 
even among good men, that it might be expected to 
suit every conscience, and almost every taste. In the 
established church, together with a liturgv of distin- 
guished excellence, there are many faithful pastors and 
teachers; and out of it there are many others of a simi- 

* The reader will permit me here to relate an anecdote of 
one of the ablest mathematicians of this age, v. hich was told 
me by his friend, who was with him at the time: That, in pas- 
sing- by a numerous religious assembly, whose voices were ex- 
alted in devout psalmody, he was cast into a kind of momentary 
rapture, which he could not forbear to express in terms of pious 
admiration : a circumstance the more remarkable, as this emi- 
. nent philosopher had not entered the doors of a temple for the 
last twenty years. 

t Mat. xviii. 20. 



SECT. II.] On the positive Mcims of Virtue* 119 

lar character; besides all this, we have liberty; and' 
what can be desired more? In many places, the pul- 
pit yields a strain of evangelical doctrine ; and should 
any one be so unfavourably situated as to be deprived 
of this advantage, let him not unwisely disparage 
what he enjoys; but remember, that the worst ser- 
mon he hears contains more important matter than 
is to be found in all the volumes of heathen philoso- 
phers. Or should he now and then encounter a 
harangue which has neither reason nor scripture to 
recommend it, he may learn to quiet his mind wuth 
the remark of good Mr. Herbert; 

If all wants sense, 
God takes a text, and preacheth patience. 

Thtse are some of the principal means by which , 
under the influence of grace, and not alone from their 
own natural efficacy, man is restored to that divine 
likeness which w^as defaced by sin, and which con- 
sisted in knoxvledge^ righteousness^ and true holiness^^ 
Nor is it at all more necessary that w^e should com- 
prehend the nature and operation oi this grace^ than 
that we should comprthend the nature and action of 
those powers on which depend the order and various 
motions cf the material work!. And as^ in this latter 
case, it is sufficient if we know in what manner to 
apply those powers to the useful purpocies cf the pre- 
sent life ; so it is sufficient-, in the former, if we know 

* Col. iii. 20. and Eph. iv. 24. 



120 On the positive Means of Virtue, [part ii, 

how to derive the influence of grace to the purposes 
of spiritual life and final salvation.^ 

* The following passage from a work which highly deserves 
the attention of our present minute philosophers, and of all 
others who are in danger of infection from their principles, may 
illustrate the above paragraph : 

"I presume it will be allowed that there are very evident 
propositions or theorems relating to force, which contain use- 
ful truths : for instance, that a body with conjunct forces des- 
cribes the diagonal of a parallelogram in the same time that it 
w^ould the sides with separate. Is not ihis a principle of very 
extensive use ? Doth not the doctrine of the composition and 
resolution of forces depend upon it; and, in consequence thereof, 
numberless rules and theorems directing men how to act, and 
explaining j&/6e?zome;2(3 throughout the mechanics and mathema- 
tical philosophy? And if, by considering this doctrine offeree, 
men arrive at the knov»dedge of many inventions in mechanics, 
and are taught to frame engines, by means of which things 
difficult and otherwise impossible may be performed; and if 
the same doctrine, which is so beneficial here below, serves 
also as a key to discover the nature of the celestial motions ; 
shall we deny that it is of use, either in practice or speculation, 
because v.e have no distinct idea of force? Or that which we 
admit with regard io force , upon what pretence can we deny 
concei'mwg grace ? if there are queries, disputes, perplexities, 
diversity of notions and opinions, about the one, so there are 
about the other also: If we can form no precise distinct idea of 
the one, so neither can we of the other. Ouglit we not there- 
fore, by a parity of reason, to conclude, there may be possibly 
divers true and useful propositions concerning the one as well 
as the other? And that grace may, for aught you know, be 
an object of our faith, and infiuence our life and actions, as a 
principle destructive of evil liabits and productive of good ones, 
although we cannot attain a distinct idea of it, separate or ab 
stracted from God tlie author, from man the subject, and from 
virtue and piety its effects ?" Bishop Berkley's Minute Philoso- 
pher, Dialogue vii. § 7. 



SECT. II.] On the positive Means of Virtue. 121 

(III.) As the circumstances which are peculiarly 
favourable in a life of retirement, to the devotional 
exercises now stated, will easily suggest themselves 
to the reader, I shall not here stay to recite them ; 
but proceed, lastly, to the objection intended: which 
is this. That whatever be the advantages of a pri- 
vate over a public life on the side of devotion, it is 
inferior to it on the side of action, by which virtue 
is carried into practice, and thus most effectually 
promoted. 

This objection, in its principle, that virtue is in- 
creased by action^ is undoubtedly just ; but that pub- 
lic employment furnishes in general a course of 
action best adapted to this purpose, is not so evi- 
dent as to be received without examination. 

If we take a view of that numerous class of men 
who are occupied in business, we shall find them 
often labouring under the pressure and urgency of 
their situation ; oppressed with toil, or harrassed 
with importunity ; involved in perplexity for want 
of means and instruments to execute their engage- 
ments, or anxious for expedients to support their 
credit ; so that their daily life is rather a hai'd and 
enfeebling struggle with difficulties, than a mode- 
rate and w^holesome exercise of their active powers. 
And though the mcfre peculiar temptations of traf- 
fic can only be well described by those who have 

collected them from actual experience, there can 

M 



122 On the positive Means of Virtue, [part ii. 

be no doubt that they are often subtle and preva- 
lent, especially in those employments which more 
immediately relate to the fashions, the luxuries, the 
elegancies and splendour of life. He who can travel 
in these roads without entangling his conscience 
has learned to pick his way with no ordinary cir- 
cumspection. Nor is it a difficulty in commercial 
transactions only, to maintain anundeviatingtenour 
in the path of strict rectitude ; but likewise, when- 
ever a multiplicity of affairs, which is sure to in- 
volve many jarring claims and interests, is to be 
settled with others. In such cases, it is a rare vir- 
tue which will not decline a little, if not to the ac- 
tual injury of truth and justice, at least to the prac- 
tice of such shifts and expedients of which truth 
and justice must be ashamed. And if it be thus 
difficult for one in public life to acquit himself of 
his fundamental duties, it must be still more so in 
regard to those duties which approach nearer to 
a perfect virtue. If to this we add the general im- 
pression of the world, arising from the combined 
power of its corrupt principles and inordinate pas- 
sions, we may form some idea of that vigilance and 
exertion which is necessary for a good man to make 
his way, and to grow still better, in opposition to 
it, or even to withstand the violence of the torrent. 

The question then is. Whether some active em- 
ployment (whose utility is acknowledged in respect 
of the health ot the mind as well as of the body,) 



SECT. II.] On the positive Means of Virtue. 123 

may not usually be found in retired life, of a degree 
and kind more fa\'ourable to virtue than that which 
we have now described? And this question, I be- 
lieve, there are few who will not be inclined to an- 
swer in the affirmative, when they recollect, that, 
besides an occasional attention to agriculture and 
other rural occupations, a retired and w^ell disponed 
man may devote a part of his time to assist his 
neighbour with his purse or his counsel, to encou- 
rage industry, to promote the education of poor 
children, and to supply in general the means of 
religious instruction ; that in some or all of these 
methods he may provide himself with a moderate 
and regular employment, and of a kitid the most 
conducive to his own moral improvement. 

Such are the remarks which have occurred upon 
the subject of Education and Religion, as the two 
most powerful means of true virtue ; and to close 
the section, it remains only to consider, under the 
third head, the subserviency of Philosophy and His- 
tory to the same great end. 

III. PHILOSOPHY AND HISTORY. 

Let us, then, now attend the retired man in his 
philosophical and historical researches, in order to 
ascertain v/hat help he may thence derive towards 
H virtuous progress. 



124 On the positive Means of Virtue, [part ii» 

Philosophy is divided into natural and moral. 
We shall begin with the former. 

1. Whatever tends to enlarge and ennoble the 
mind, to expand its views beyond the sphere of 
ordinary life, and inspire it with a taste of intellec- 
tual enjoyment, is evidently favourable to virtue. 
Now a comprehensive study of nature has this ten- 
dency. While we examine at large the globe we 
inhabit, explore its mines and its caverns, or survey 
the striking diversity of its surface, here rising in 
lofty movmtains, and there stretched into vast plains 
and deserts, or diffused into a boundless expanse of 
?fater&; >vhil^ wp note the ^leasinp* variety of its 
vegetable productions, its numerous tribes of ani- 
mais, ana tneir different linbitudes j or ascend into 
the region of the atmosphere to admire the beauti- 
ful splendor and the awful grandeur of its meteors j 
or while we observe on every side indubitable 
proofs of that change which has passed upon this 
sublunary system, and perceive already in action 
those causes which may bring on its final catas- 
trophe: — all this must tend to give amplitude to 
the mind, to compose its passions, and prepare it 
for moral and religious contemplation. Or should 
%ve recede from this terraqueous dwelling till it be- 
came a speck in the immensity of space, it must 
serve still more, by extending our viev/ of the uni- 
verse, to enlarge and elevate our faculties, to repress 
the ardour of a vain ambition, and to weaken our 



szcT. II.] On the positive Means of Virtue. 125 

earthly attachments. Such appears to have been the 
effect upon the famous Roman, Scipio ^milianus^ 
(if we may credit the account of his extraordinary 
dream given us by Tully,) when^from his imaginary 
station in the galaxy, he looked down upon the 
earth, and reflected how small a portion of this di- 
minutive orb was occupied by that empire which 
had till then engaged all his attention.* 

2. Again: Whatever tends to purge the mind 
from the terrors of superstition, (and philosophy 
has this tendency) is favourable to the advance- 
ment of real virtue, whose genius is noble and un- 
constrained, and delights in truth and liberty. 
While men are ignorant of nature, they are very 
liable to resolve into supernatural interposition, 
and to construe into certain signs of divine dis- 
pleasure, events which the light of philosophy 
would teach them were no more than the regular 
consequences of general laws. An eclipse of the 
sun or moon has been sufficient, in former ages, to 

* Erat autcm is splendlssimo candore inter flammas circus 
tlucens, quern vos, ut a Oralis accepistis, orbem lacteum nun- 
cupatis. Ex quo omnia mihi contemplanti, prxclara cetera & 
iT^irabilia videbantur. Erant autem ese stell^, quas nunquam ex 
hoc loco vidimus; & e^ magnitudines omnium, quas esse nun- 
quam suspicati sumus; ex quibus erat ilia minima, qu^ ultima 
coelo, citima terris, luce lucebat aliena. Stellarum autem ^lobi 
terrce magnitudinem facile vincebant. Jam ipsa terra ita mihi 
parva msa est, ut me imperii no.tri, quo quasi punctum ejus attin- 
^imus, pceniurct^^Somnium Scipionis, § 3. 

M2 



126 On the positive Means of Virtue, [part ii* 

terrify half the world, to raise vain presages of ap- 
proaching calamities, to arrest armies in the career 
of victory, or tie vip their hands in situations which 
called for every ex^jrtion.^ To the same ignorance 
must be ascribed the follies of judicial astrology^ 
and many of those arts of divination which still 
continue to be practised in various parts of the 
world. It was this which clothed Roger Bacon with 
the character of a magician ; and should any one at 
this day exhibit the surprising phenomena of mag- 
netism or electricity among a horde of savages, it 
is probable they would regard him in the ^ame 
light, and might easily be made the dupes of their 
own simplicity. Nor ought the most enlightened 
Christian philosopher to imagine himself so secure 
against the impressions of ignorance or imposture, 
as to render any farther attention to the study of 
nature unnecessary .f 

* As we are told of Nicias, the Athenian general, that, upon 
such an exigency, being thrown into a sudden consternation by 
a lunar eclipse, he lost all his military virtue, and tamely yield- 
ed up himself and his numerous forces to the mercy of the ene- 
liiy. And thus it often happens in the ordinary conduct of life^ 
that fear, the child of superstition, betrays those succours which 
are offered by reason and religion. See the Discourse of Plutarcli 
en Superstition, 

t The following lines of Lucretius deserve to be cited on this 
©.ccasion : 

Nam veluti pueri trepidant, atque omnia caecis 
In tenebris metuunt; sic nos in luce timeinus; 
iBterdum nihilo quae suat metuenda magis, quam 



»MT. „.] 0, ,Hep„„i„ Meam tf Virtue. ,2, 

J. Fanher; A genuine natural philosophy is fa. 
sun^t: 'I """/' " " """^ "• ''"°'"' *e unit 

r::!;aV,iii:2r;:arr;r'-«-! 
pH.o3oph,, chieh .he rea.er,:;:;i:rpUr 

„f,-i 1- 7'"'^'^ "as gone under the name of 
philosophy that has a very different oper^t ox^ 
though :t fails to reach the reality of thL'gT it J 

:!jf:;r°-^"^^-"^n<i-hawonder':il 
c- of ,ts own powers and attainments. Upon prin, 
c pies gratuitously adopted, it has pretended to ex 
Plam the constitution and course of the nlral 
world, and even to unfold the manner in whi h f 
was ongmally formed: a presumption of wh^ch 
such a creature as man, who probably holds the 
lowest place m the scale of intellectual being, migh 
have been thought incapable. True philosophy is 

Q.«ae puen i„ tenebris pavitent, f5ng.„tque futura: 
Hunc ig,tur terrorem animi, tenebrasque necesse'st 
Nonradii solis. neque lucida tela diei 
Discutiant, sed naturae species ratioque.-Lib. II, 
Thus translated by Mr. Dryden: 

As children tremble in the dark, so we 
Ev'n in broad day-light are possessed with fears. 
And shake at shadows, fanciful and vain 
As those which in the breast of children reim 
These bugbears of the mind, this inward hell, ' 
i.0 rays of outward sunshine can dispel; 
But nature and right reason must display 

Theirbeams abroad, and bringthe darksome soul to d»y, 



128 On the positive Means of Virtue, [part ii. 

not of this assuming character ; it teaches us, that 
no man can Jind out the work that God maketh from 
the beginning to the end;^ that we know but parts of 
his ways;^ that it requires long and patient obser- 
vation to lay a ground in experience on which to 
erect any general axiom; that this can be done only 
in a few cases ; and that, when it is done, and the 
axiom is properly established, the practical use 
will commonly he inconsiderable. All this has anT 
evident tendency to abate the pride of the human 
mind, to deliver it from a vain confidence in its 
own abstracted reasonings and fanciful theories, 
and at the same time to regulate its inquiries and 
its expectations: for " man, being the minister and 
^' interpreter of nature, acts and understands so far 
" as he has observed of the order, the works, and 
'^ mind of nature; and can proceed no farther: for 
^' no power is able to loose or break the chains of 
'' cause ; nor is nature to be conquered but by sub- 
" mission/'J Under this wholesome discipline, the 

* Eccles. iii. 11. t i^^^> x^^'^- ^4. 

\ Lord Bacon. See his works^ by Shaw, vol. i. p. 16. He had 
before said, " Nor could we hope to succeed, if we arrogantly 
searched for the sciences, in the narrow cells of the human un- 
derstanding, and not sulyinissivelyi in the ivider ivorld.^^ And again ; 
** If we shall have effected any thing to the purpose, what led 
us to it was a true and genuine huiniliation of onind. Those who 
before us applied themselves to the discovery of arts, having 
just glanced upon things, examples .and experiments; imme- 
diately, as if invention was but a kind of contemplation, raised 
up their own spirits to deliver oracles : whereas our method is 



SIECT. II.] On the positive Mea?is of Virtue. 129 

understanding is reclaimed, is made sensible of its 
contraction and weakness, and thus is prepared to 
yield a humble deference to the word of revelation; 
a disposition which is one of the greatest virtues in 
itself, and productive of all others. 

Lastly: The knowledge of nature is favourable 
to virtue, as it supplies analogies that are of use 
to obviate objections against the credibility of reli- 
gion. If nature and Christianity proceed from the 
same Author, it is reasonable to expect between 
them such features of resemblance, so much of the 
same style and character, as would afford evidence 
of their common original. Accordingly such cha- 
racters of resemblance to each other are found ac- 
tually to exist. In particular it is found, that v/h?.t-- 
ever objections lie against the Christian religion, 
the same bear with equal force against the consti- 
tution and course of nature ; so that whoever ad- 
mits the latter to be from God, cannot, consistently 
with his own principles, deny the general credibi- 
lity, that the former may have proceeded from the 
same original. This an excellent author has so fully 
demonstrated, in a treatise very commonly known, 
and justly held in high estimation,* that I might 

continually to dwfell upon things soberly, without abstracting or 
setting the understanding farther from them than makes their 
images meet ; which leaves but little room for genius or men- 
VhI abilities." 

* Bishop Butler's Analog)'. 



130 On the positive Means of Virtue, [part ir. 

entirely have referred the reader to what is there 
contained; but I could not pass a subject of such 
importance without the following brief illustration. 

The analogy between yirc^ in the natural world, 
and grace in Christianity, has already been obser- 
ved ; and it has appeared, that we have as much 
reason to argue against the reality of the former, 
on account of its mysterious nature and operation, 
as, upon the same grounds, to argue against the 
reality of the latter ; and that, as it is sufficient if 
we know how to employ the former to our benefit; 
how, for instance, we may receive, by the help of 
fit engines/ the force of air or water in order to 
grind our corn, and for other useful purposes of 
life ; so, in the other case, it is sufficient if we know 
through what appointed means we may receive the 
influences of grace, in order to our sanctification 
and salvation. 

The resurrection of the body is another article 
of the Christian system, whose natural incredibility 
is obviated by analogy. St. Paul, in treating upon 
this subject, thus speaks : But some man xvill say^ 
How are the dead raised up^ and with what body do 
they come? To which he replies. Thou fool^ that 
which thou sowest is not quickened except it die; and 
that which thou soxvest^ thou sowest not that body 
xvhich shall he^ but bare grain^ it may chance cj 
-wheats or of some other grain; but God giveth it a 



SECT, II.] On the positive Means of Virtue. 131 

hodij as it hath pleased him^ and to every seed his 
exvn body.^ Here the human body is resembled to 
a vegetable seed; and it is supposed that, prior to 
experience, it would be no more credible for a grain 
of corn, after it had seemingly perished in the earth 
to spring up again in other grains similar to itself, 
than for a human body, after it was laid in the grave, 
to be raised again from a state of dissolution. The 
like analogy is presented in the successive trans- 
formations of some insects from a vermicular to a 
kind of sepulchral state, and thence to an aerial 
existence. Nay, the whole face of nature, if viewed 
in the depth of winter, exhibits the same emblema- 
tic instruction ; and could we suspend the effect of 
previous experience, it might appear perhaps as 
incredible, that the whole vegetable world in the 
course of a few months should resume its former 
verdure and beauty, as that the dead of all past 
ages should rise again at the last day. May vv^enot 
then address the philosophic unbeliever in the 
words of one of our popular poets : 

Read nature ; nature is a friend to truth. 
Nature is christian, preaches to mankind. 
And bids dead matter aid us in our creed. 

Other instances of analogy Heave to the reader's 
own observation and inquiry; and, as his view be- 
comes more extended, he will more clearly disco- 

' 1 Cor. TV. 35—^. 



132 On the positive Means of Virtue, [part ii, 

ver that the source of men's infidelity lies in their 
ignorance of nature as well as of revelation. 

Let us now proceed to consider, in a few in- 
stances, how the philosophy called moral may con- 
tribute to the promotion of religion and virtue. 

!• And, first, it may contribute, by tracing out^ 
however imperfectly, the equity and goodness of 
the divine laws and dispensations, when once they 
are actually declared and manifested : which is a 
very different thing from an attempt to determine, 
a priori^ what these laws and dispensations ought 
to be, from our abstracted ideas of equity and good- 
ness. To proceed in this method would generally 
be an act of high presumption, and might easily be- 
tray the arrogant speculator into very dangerous er- 
rors ; while the former mode of investigation, pro- 
vided it be kept within the limits of the human un- 
derstanding, and conducted with due reverence and 
humility, is the noblest exerciseof true philosophy, 
which may thus afford succour to faith in the hour 
of trial, and add strength and confirmation to vir- 
tue. For though implicitly to obey all the commands 
of God, and acquiesce in all his proceedings towards 
us, is our evident duty, and constitutive of our per- 
fection and happiness, it is often no small advantage 
in our present state of infirmity, when we are able 
to discern, that infinite wisdom and benignity are 
in conjunction with sovereign authority, and that 



SECT. II.] On the positive Means of Virtue. 133 

the ways of heaven towards men are not the issues 
of mere will and pleasure, but have a reason in the 
divine perfections, in the nature and fitness of things, 
and bear a gracious regard to our present and future 
welfare. In proportion as this is seen, our self-love 
is disarmed, and our natural obstinacy softened. 
When we see that the gospel is no arbitrary plot to 
lay our pride in the dust, but a demonstration of the 
-wisdom and righteousness of God ^"^ in the recovery 
of man to more than his original glory and happi- 
ness, we shall be disposed to regard it with less re- 
pugnance ; and again, when we see that its moral 
precepts are conducive to the same great end, and 
were never meant to impose any unnecessary re- 
straints on our liberty, or to abridge our innocent 
enjoyments, we shall be less offended with their ap- 
parent severity. Thus, by a discovery that we are 
under the direction of a will that is at once good and 
acceptable and perfect^ we shall be the more power- 
fully induced to embrace it with a cordial alacrity. 

2. Again: Moral Philosophy, by showing more 
minutely the nature and extent of our social obliga- 
tions, may be serviceable to the cause of virtue. The 
principle of virtue, which is the love of God and mark^ 
is indeed the same in all; but the proper display of 
it in practice varies with every individual, and mani- 
festly depends on his particular station and circum- 
stances in the world. 

* Ephes. i. 8. Rom. iii. 25. 

N 



134 On the positive Means of Virtue* [part ii. 

It is true, the scripture enters into sundry details 
upon this subject,^ and supplies sufficient rules for 
the general conduct of life, in every age and country, 
and in every condition of rank and fortune. Yet still 
there remain many decencies and proprieties of be- 
haviour, many minor duties, which can only be known 
by a careful survey of the times and circumstances in 
which we are actually placed. For want of this, good 
men may often behave themselves worse than others, 
who neither fear God, nor regard their fellow-crea- 
tures, any farther than their present interest is con- 
cerned. For want of duly considering the state of 
society they are under, its different classes, and their 
various relations among themselves, and to one ano- 
ther, they may very culpably fail in those decorums 
and laudable usages, of which a discreet man of the' 
world is observant. What usually tempts persons of 
piety to this inattention is an opinion, that all the 
form and circumstance, the mode and ceremony of 
life, are little things. Here then a prudent philosophy 
may come in aid of their religion, by teaching them 
that on these little things depend much of the good 
order that is found amongst men, and much of their 
comfort; and, what is more, much of the favourable 
attention they afford to religion and virtue; which 
are seldom received with kindness, when introduced 
in a manner either rude or impertinent. 

* See, among- other instances, the 13th chapter to the Romans, 
and the 2d chapter of the Epistle to Titus. 



SECT. II.] On the positive Means of Virtue. 135 

3. We may next observe, that there is the like 
tendency in a just moral philosophy, as in the study 
of nature, to reduce us to humility; the one on ac- 
count of our imperfect virtue, and the other (as we 
have before remarked) on account of the indistinct- 
ness and limitation of our knowledge. While we con- 
sider our duties grossly, we niiay easily be satisfied 
with ourselves; but not so when we view them clearly 
and distinctly in all their appropriate and discrimina- 
ting circumstances: for every action has its particular 
congruities, which if not attended to, the action itself 
is so far vitiated. It is not enough to be respectful to 
a superior, unless we pay him that peculiar respect 
which is due to his age, his station, his character, and 
the relatioa he stands in to us. So the more familiar 
regard we owe to an equal, or an inferior, ought to be 
qualified by the particular circumstances. When in 
this manner we examine our most laudable conduct, 
we shall find it maimed and imperfect; and that if 
in some respects it deserves praise, in others it needs 
pardon. Thus, as we grow in a critical acquaintance 
with those fitnesses and proprieties which must give 
to our actions their full integrity and beauty, and 
make virtue look like itself, we shall be taught, undera 
consciousness of our innumerable deficiencies, the 
need we have to cultivate that humility of temper, 
which so much becomes the best man in his best per- 
formances. 

4. To expose the general vanity of the world, the 
fallacy of its hopes, and the certainty of its evils, is 



136 On the positive Means of Virtue, [part ii, 

another mode in which philosophy may conduce to 
the interest of virtue; as it may thus serve to regu- 
late our desires and expectations, to abate our envy 
on account of the superior fortune of others, and to 
render us contented with our own. In this branch^f 
moral wisdom there has never, I presume, been a 
greater proficient in any age orfiatien than the an- 
cient author of the book of Ecclesiastes^ who, after 
he: had set his heart to seek and search out concerning 
all things that are done under heaven^ thus declares 
the result: I have seen all the xvorks that are done U7i' 
der the sun; and behold^ all is vanity and vexation of 
spirit: that xvhich is crooked cannot be made straight^ 
and that which is xvanting cannot be numbered."^ And 
these evils have afforded topics to almost every emi- 
nent moralist, since his time, for much eloquent descrip- 
tion and pathetic complaint. Of this kind of compo- 
sition we have excellent specimens in many of our 
sermons, and in many of those periodical essays 
which have appeared amongst us within the last hun- 
dred years; and in none has the condition of human 
life been more justly or elegantly deplored than in 
the more serious numbers of the Rambler^ and in some 
other productions of the same great author. Lastly, 
besides a conviction of the vanity of the world, we 
may derive from philosophy many particular directions 
for our proper behaviour in it. It was to draw out 
these instructive counsels for the use of all succeed- 
ing generations, that the wise prince above named 

■' Eccles. i. 13—15. 



SECT. II.] On the positive Mectns of Virtue. 137 

composed his book of proverbs; of which the design 
was, as he tells us in his preface, To know zvisdom 
and instruction^ to perceive the words of understand^ 
ing; to receive the i?istruction of wisdom^ justice^ and 
judgment^ and equity; to give subtilty to the simple^ 
to the young 7nan knoxvledge and discretion."^ Nor is 
there perhaps a moral writer, ancient or modem, 
from w^hom a prudent man may not collect some use- 
ful hint for the better regulation of his conduct, both 
in public and in private. 

And thus may appear the utility of moral philoso- 
pl-iy, and how much it deserves to be admitted into 
our studious retirements, while it acts its own part, 
and keeps within its proper bounds ; while it endea- 
vours modestly to trace out the equity and goodness 
of the divine laws and dispensations, to mark with 
more precision the nature and extent of our social 
duties, to show us the imperfection of our virtue, and 
the vanity of this world when separated from the 
next. But when it once presumes to transgress these 
limits, and instead of the hand-maid would become 
the rival of religion; especially when it would substi- 
tute .the doctrine of manners for the doctrine which 
is according to godliness^ and thus intercept the pro- 
gress of the mind from morality to piety; it is then 
corrupted by the elements of this world^ and degene- 
rates into vain deceit.'\ And here lies th^ main charge 
against our popular moral doctrine^ whether contained 

* Prov. i. 2—4. t Coloss. ii. 8. 

N2 



138 On the positive Means of Virtue, [part ii. 

in sermons or otherwise, that it generally tends to 
supplant those great principles of Christianity, by 
which alone we can be brought into a state of favour 
with God, and of conformity to his image. By direct 
assertions, and perhaps still more frequently by secret 
insinuations, it leads to an opinion, that to be reform- 
ed is to be regenerated: and that a laudable discharge 
of our social and civil duties is all the virtue that is 
required at our hands, or that is necessary to entitle 
us to the kingdom of heaven. In this manner it is 
that the philosophy now in question, like the harlot 
in the Proverbs, seduces passengers xvho go right on 
their^ "ways^ and who, without this interruption, 
might by gradual advances attain at last to a full par- 
ticipation of the blessings of true religion. 

History. — Of the moral improvement to be de- 
rived from history^ which (as some have well said) 
is nothing but philosophy teaching by example^ and 
therefore teaching the more effectually, a remai;^ or 
two may here be sufficient. 

In a forntler section it has been observed, that, to 
a man of understanding and sensibility, the reading 
of well-chosen history is almost equivalent to an ac- 
tual engagement in the scenes represented. In every 
interesting conjuncture that passes before him, while 
he forms a probable conjecture, and has sometimes 
a strong perception of the feelings and views of the 

' Prov! ix. 15. 



X 



SECT. II.] On the positive Means of Virtue. 139 

several actors, he has a lively consciousness what his 
own would have been in their particular situations. 
Under this consciousness, if his end in reading, as 
we suppose, be moral discipline, he will not fail to 
apply the rule of duty to the particular instances, and, 
upon a discovery of the vices and defects of his cha- 
racter, will address himself to seek and apply those 
remedies which may serve to their correction. In this 
way the retired man may attain an extensive ac- 
quaintance with himself, may explore his strength 
and weakness, and be led to such resolutions, follow- 
ed with such active endeavours, as may be effectual 
to diminish his imperfections, and to increase his 
virtues. 

Even a mere exhibition of the world, in the min-or 
of faithful history, has in itself a powerful tendency 
to produce, among other good effects, the cure of a 
vain ambition, to reconcile the mind to a virtuous 
obscurity, and to inspire a spirit of universal candour 
and moderation. While we contemplate the dishonest 
shifts, the mean compliances, the endless mortifica- 
tions and disappointments of worldly men, in the 
chase of power and distinction; or note the innume- 
rable recorded examples, on the one hand, of pros- 
perous folly or villany, and on the other, of neglected 
or degraded merit: the mind naturally recoils with 
indignation, and clings with alacrity to the blessings 
of a humble condition. Or when we view the varioiis 
sects and parties into which men are divided, in re- 
ligion and politics, and observe tha^ the best of them 



140 On the positive Mecms of Virtue* [part. ii» 

are not without some alloy of error or depravity, nor 
the worst without some laudable opinion or practice, 
we find relief from bigotry and faction, and learn to 
look on those of our own way without a blind admi- 
ration, and to regard the rest with a spirit of generous 
equity. 

Of all the various species of history, perhaps bi- 
ography yields the most improvement, especially 
when it relates to persons whose rank and situation 
in the world were not very different from our own. 
Such we naturally attend with interest through every 
stage of life and vicissitude of fortune, and if they 
were truly good men, and we ourselves are prepared 
to profit by their example, we enter still more mi- 
nutely into their views and motives, and accompany 
them in their whole course with a more peculiar sym- 
pathy; are instructed by their wisdom, edified by 
their virtues, warned by their miscarriages, and en- 
couraged by their victories. 

In respect to that feigned history with which the 
present age unhappily abounds, and which finds its 
way into the most sequestered corners, a wise recluse 
has only to shut his door against it; unless he shall 
choose tx) give admittance to a very few ingenious 
fictions, which, by a striking display of the world in 
its vanities and its sorrows, may help to weaken his 
attachment to it. 

I shall conclude this section with a general remark 



SECT, II.] On the positive 3fea?is of Virtue. 141 

or two concerning virtue: first, as it is the product 
of action ; and secondly, of contemplation. 

The former, as it is much conversant with human 
affairs, is apt to acqiiire a human character, and to 
be more disposed to acts of beneficence and tempo- 
ral utility than of devotion and piety; and thus, in its 
progress to^vards a better world, is very liable to in- 
terception, and to have its ardour wasted by. a sepa- 
rate attention to the duties of the present life; whilst 
of the latter we may observe, that though it seems to 
partake more of divinity, to be more disengaged from 
the earth, and to abound more in devout affections, 
there is danger lest, in its apparent approach to the 
worship of angels, it should fail in that practical 
benevolence towards men, without which it can have 
no just claim to the character of a solid piety. 

Again: when a man's course of action is narrow 
and confined, as, it always must be to the far greater 
part of the world, that virtue which results from it 
will generally partake of the limitation. He who has 
spent his days in some laborious employment within 
the bounds of his own parish, which is the case of 
multitudes, is not likely to feel much interest in what 
passes at a distance, though in his own contracted 
sphere he may display a high degree of moral worth. 
The same observation may be extended to every 
man who is trained up to active life; his principles 
may be just and pious, but their exercisf , however 
exemplary, will commonly be limited by his exterior 



142 On the positive Means of Virtue, [part ii. 

circumstances. On the other hand, he who has been 
bred up in a contemplative retirement is less res- 
tricted by time or place, he can more easily transfer 
his attention to every period and region of the globe 
we inhabit, and, through the medium of history 
or prophecy, receive the impression of every interest- 
ing event from the beginning to the end of time; and 
soar aloft with a less obstructed wing above this sub- 
lunary state, and all contingent existence, to the con- 
templation of objects immutable and eternal. Thus 
it appears, that neither an active nor contemplative in- 
stitution of life is so absolutely complete in itself, that 
each of them may not derive considerable assistance 
from a participation with the other. Happy then is he 
who can properly unite them both; who can behold 
the face of his Father i?i heaven^ while he ministers 
to the welfare of his fellow-creatures upon earth ; and 
whose virtue bears at once the impression of man and 
of the universce 



E 143 j 



SECTION III. 

Qn 807116 Evils particularly incident to a retired Life^ and 
which are contrary^ or at least unfavourable^ to Virtue ; 
ivith afetv Hints re spec ting their Remedies, 

1 HE state of man here on earth is so beset with 
innumerable dangers, that he can seldom make his 
escape from those which press hardest upon him, 
without exposing himself to others equally importu- 
nate. All the various conditions of human life, be- 
sides what they share in common, are each accom- 
panied with their peculiar difficulties and temptations. 
Were there any exception to this remark, it might 
seem to be in favour of retire?nent 'with a competency ; 
yet even this situation, highly privileged as it ap- 
pears, is not without its particular incidental evils; 
among which we may enumerate the following: 

I. Idleness. — The love of ease is natural to man, 
and influences his conduct in all circumstances; but 
especially when, by abstraction from the world, he is 
placed at a distance from many of those objects which 
are suited to call forth his voluntary exertions ; and 
when, at the same time, he is exempted by his for- 
tune from the necessity of labour. 



144 On the Evils incident to Retirement, [part ii. 

Let us suppose an independent country gentleman, 
who is content with his paternal acres, and never 
wanders from the ancient family residence. Since he 
has nothing to engage him at court or in the city, 
he must endeavour to strike out some occupation 
which may preserve him from the evil of which we 
are speaking. Perhaps he may commence a sports- 
man, he may traverse the woods with his fowling- 
piece, or halloo to his dogs in the chase; but as these * 
diversions can only be had at certain seasons of the 
year, and are also further suspended on good health 
and fair weather, they must subject their votary to 
many listless intervals. Like the savage in the wil- 
derness, he will be in continual danger of lapsing 
from the violence of agitation into a dreary vacuum, 
or, which is worse, into a state of low sensual indul- 
gence. Or perhaps he may betake himself to building 
and planting, he may pull down the old mansion and 
build a greater, or amuse himself with perpetual 
alterations ; he may plant a grove because it would 
yield him shade, and then pluck it up because it 
would intercept his prospect; and thus, by one varia- 
tion after another, he may try to improve the struc- 
ture of his house, and the face of nature, till, wearied 
with change and disappointment, he at length sits 
down in slothful indifference or disgust. 

Should he be one v/ho prefers the pursuits of 
science, and the improvement of his understanding, 
to the chase of animals, to a commodious house, or 
a fine landscape, his time \Till indeed be then less 



1 



SECT. III.] On the Evils incident to Retirement. 145 

liable to vacuities ; at least till the novelty be over, 
or till he has discovered the general unimportance 
and uncertainty of mere human studies. And if to 
his speculations he should add a little practical phi- 
losophy; should he turn, for instance, his attention to 
agriculture, and endeavour by ingenious arts to draw 
from our common mother the earth a more ample 
produce, and so to facilitate and increase the supply 
of human wants; this .would open to him a new 
source of pleasing and laudable occupation. Still, 
however, as neither the culture of the mind nor of 
tlie soil is secured by the same strong and constant 
impulsion of the passions, which bears men forward in 
public life, the tendency of nature towards an indolent 
repose will almost unavoidably gather strength, and 
labour gradually give place to ease, unless reinforced 
and sustained by motives derived from another 
world. 

There are few instances, I believe, to be met 
with, in any situation, of a regular and supported 
conduct, without the aid of religion* This is neces- 
sary to fill up and quicken those dull intervals which 
happen in the busiest life, and to preserve a retired 
one from total stagnation. It is religion which must 
plant in the soul that motive principle, which will 
display itself in a useful course of employment, 
whatever be the circumstances in which we are 
placed; like a perennial spring, that still sends forth 
a pure and salubrious stream, notwithstanding every 
alterauon of weather or vicissitude of seasons* 

O 



146 On the Evils incident to RetircmeiiL [part ii. 

The activity of man as a rational being, depends 
chiefly on the end he has in view. Now the end 
presented to him by religion is of the most excellent 
and interesting nature, and, if duly apprehended, 
will always command a vigorous exercise of his 
moral and intellectual powers ; and thus furnish him 
with the noblest occupation, even in the midst of a 
desert. He who is fully conscious that he has a soul 
to save, and an eternity to secure, and, still further 
to animate 'his endeavours, that God and angels are 
the spectators of his conduct, can never want motives 
for exertion in the most sequestered solitude. 

Ii. Another evil particularly incident to retirement 
IS humour. He who is under no controul from 
others, which is most likely to happen in sequester- 
ed life, will, without great self-command^ be very 
liable to give a loose to his caprices and his oddities. 
In society there are few who have such an ascend- 
ancy as enables them to impose their will as a law 
to all about them; men there meet with their match, 
reason is opposed to reason, and one caprice to 
another; mutual compliances are found necessary in 
order to preserve any degree of amicable intercourse ; 
and thus the waywardness of humour is partly re- 
strained and corrected. It is otherwise in retirement, 
where it is common for a country gentleman, when 
he looks around him, to see none but inferiors and 
dependents, who, whatever they may mutter in 
secret, find it prudent or expedient to give way to 
his peculiar fancies, which, to a vulgar mind is often 



^ECT. Ill*] On the Evils incident to Retirement. 147 

no small temptation to indulge them \vith the greater 
wantonness. 

Nor is this disposition confined to particular acts ; 
it sometimes shows itself in a system of singularities. 
The humourist will regulate the most indifferent cir- 
cumstances by laws as unalterable as those of the 
Medes and Persians. Amidst all the changes o 
fashion, he will pertinaciously wear the same uni- 
form; copied, perhaps, from the age of his great- 
grandfather. Every punctilio of his table shall be 
according to stated rules of his own prescription; he 
will not eat his dinner unless seated in his own 
chair, nor drink but out of his own cup. At the 
accustomed hour, he will walk up the same hillv 
gaze at scenes he has surveyed before a thousand 
times, and then return back whence he came. Or 
should his humour take another turn, no one shall 
be able to divine, a minute beforehand, what he 
menus either to do, or to ha.ve done. In all cases his 
motto is the same : 

Stat pre ratione voluntas. 

As all this proceeds chiefly from a bent to gratify 
ourselves in trifluig objects; and as this disposition 
may farther be resolved into a contraction of the un- 
derstanding as well as of the heart; the remedy 
must lie in the enlargement of the former by know- 
ledge, and of the latter by charity. In th's way we 
shall be preserved equally from a monasiic attention 
to minute regulations, and from a whimsical iiTcgu- 



148 Oil the Evils incident to Retireme7it. fpART ii, 

larity of temper, of which the one tends to narrow 
and enfeeble, and the other to dissipate, all the pow- 
ers of the mind; and at the same time shall farther 
be secured from that contempt of our inferiors, 
which would permit us to pursue our own gratifica- 
tion, without a due regard to their convenience or 
feelings. 

I am willing on the other hand to allow, in ex- 
tenuation, that the disposition of which we are 
speaking, if not excessive, has some claim to indul- 
gence; as it may occasionally add an agreeable 
variety to human life, and inspire a cheerful senti- 
ment of ease and liberty. Such a turn of mind must, 
however, be accounted at the best for no more thari 
a pleasing imperfection; like 2i manner in painting^, 
which, though it may produce a striking effect, is 
justly chargeable as a deviation from truth and na- 
ture. A wise man will therefore endeavour to 
restrain it within the narrowest limits; he will consi- 
der, that cvtry departure from reason and propriety, 
though in cases apparently of no consequence, is 
dangerous; that by every caprice he wantonly ex- 
poses himself to contradiction or opposition; and 
that on this, as w^ell as on other accounts, humour 
by indulgence is very liable to degenerate into 
peevishness; and, lastly, he will recollect that good 
nature and good sense supply a seasoning to human 
intercourse, v/hich can never be improved by any 
traverses of fancy or singularities of behaviour. 



SECT. III.] On the Evils incident to Retinyjjent. 149 

III. Another evil incidental to a retired life, is 
C07iceit; by which may be understood a vain self- 
complacent opinion of our own parts and attainments, 
fs^hether as compared with things themselves, or with 
the like qualities in others. In both these senses it is 
here considered, though the latter is more appropriate 
to the subject. 

Let us then first observe, how few there are who 
do not fondly over-rate themselves in regard to that 
standard which exists in the nature of things. Where 
is the man who does not entertain, in this respect, 
some over-weening opinion of his virtues ? or where 
is he who is properly sensible of the small proportion 
which his knowledge of almost every subject bears to 
his ignorance? In this philosophic age, how frequently 
do we meet with those who pride themselves in the 
imagination, that they have carried their researches 
far into nature, have detected her secret constitution, 
and her manner of operation; though they have pe- 
netrated scarce beyond the surface, have explored 
but few of her properties, and, so far from a discove- 
ry of causes, have attained but a very imperfect 
knowledge of the effects, or of the laws by which 
theysare regulated? and if we come to points which 
more nearly concern our interests, such as relate to 
civil government and vdigion, almost every man is 
forward to imagine himself above the reach of in- 
struction, that is, to imagine he is most knowing 
where he is commonly most ignorant. It is this into- 
lerable conceit which has, of hue years, produced 

02 



xjO On the Evils incident to Retirement, [part ii. 

Hich swarms of philosophers and legislators, and 
which threatens a dissolution of all the obligations of 
v^irtue, and of all the bonds of society. 

After this more general stricture, which, if less 
applicable to the subject, is too strongly applicable to 
the times, let us proceed to consider the evil in ques- 
tion, as it arises from a secret comparison of our- 
selves with others. And here it is that the retired 
man of fortune is particularly in danger. He who is 
in a situation where his opinions meet with no con- 
tradiction, and where he is listened to with apparent 
deference by all around him, will not easily preserve 
himself from a conceit of his own wisdom; he is not 
likely to carry a severe scrutiny into votes which are 
all in his favour, and to inquire whether they are the 
fruits of stupidity or discernment, of flattery or sin- 
cerity; every suffrage shall be deemed good which 
may exalt him into an oracle. 

As all human excellence is comparative, it is not 
difficult for any one, who has a litde more wit and 
money than his neighbours, to procure a circle of 
humble admirers, whose applauses shall be sufficient 
to bear him up in his fond opinion of pre-eminence ; 
and it is certain that this may happen, and that it fre- 
quently does happen, in pubUc as well as in private 
life. But it is no less certain, that, in the commerce 
of the world, a conceited man, by occasional encoun- 
ters with his superiors, generally meets with those re- 
bukes of his vain confidence, which serve to keep hiir 



SECT. III.] On the Evils incident to Retirement. 151 

within some bounds of moderation; whereas, in a 
state of retirement, for want of such checks, he is 
apt to exceed all the measures of reason and decen- 
cy. He therefore who lives sequestered from the 
world, and wishes to cure or prevent this extrava- 
gance, must endeavour to look beyond his own nar- 
row limits, and to cultivate a correspondence with 
men whose superior abilities may entitle them to his 
reverence. Or, if he cannot obtain this living in- 
struction, let him at least place himself ideally, when^ 
ever he begins to swell with pedantic conceit, in the 
presence of the wise of past ages, and by comparing 
himself with them, he may leani to shrink back intQ 
his proper dimensions. In like manner, to obviate 
any groundless pretensions to superior piety or vir- 
tue, he ought to remember, that a little good makes 
a great "^show in a small village; and, should this 
be insufficient to suppress his vanity, let him ex- 
tend his view of" mankind, let him peruse the page 
of history, or only look abroad into his own age 
and country, and he may find instances enough to 
convince him, that his moral are no more extraordi- 
nary than his intellectual qualities. 

But these remedies at the most are only palliative ; 
though they may in some measure repress a man's 
vain opinion of what he is not, they fully leave him to 
be proud of what ht is; and while this stock remains, 
the shoots of conceit will not long be wanting. Let 
us then endeavour to lay the axe to this root, by the 
following brief considerations. 



152 On the Evils incident to Retirement, [part ii* 

The first is, That we are not our own ; that our be- 
ing, with all its original capacities, is from God; so 
that hei*e the interrogation of the apostle is eminently 
applicable: What hast thou that thou didst not re^ 
ceive? now^ if thou didst receive it^ why dost though" 
ry as if thou hadst not received it? 

Another consideration to show the absurdity of the 
temper here spoken of, and which was urged by our 
Saviour himself to this purpose is. That notwithstand- 
ing the utmost improvement of our faculties, and the 
accomplishment of the whole law, we should be still 
iinpr of table servants; as it would be no more than the 
strictest obligations oi duty required of us. To do our 
duty may be matter of thankfulness, but certainly can 
never be a just ground for glorying. 

To these reasons, which extend alike to all intelli- 
gent creatures, we may add a third, which has a par- 
ticular respect to ourselves. We are not only crea- 
tures, but sinners; and, as such, obnoxious to divine 
justice, and odious to divine purity. It therefore be- 
comes us, instead walking in pride ^ to lie prostrate be- 
fore the majesty of heaven, bathed in the tears of peni- 
tence, crying for pardon and assistance. 

To expect deliverance from the evil in question 
any other way, is vain and fallacious; our self-love 
will always have something to suggest in our favour; 
but when we are once made to feel what we are as 
creatures and as sinners, there will be an end of pride 
and conceit together. 



SECT. III.] On the Evils incident to Retirement. 153 

IV. A fourth evil, to which I apprehend we are 
more liable in retired than in public life, is incivility. 
To illustrate this, we need only take a view of the or- 
dinary motives to a courteous behaviour, and of their 
respective influence in these different situations. 

The first motive I shall take notice of, is interest^ 
whose effect upon the manjiers is obvious through eve- 
ry rank and station of society. Should you go to make 
your market in the city, the tradsc man, with alacrity, 
will ransack his shop to serve you ; and though all his 
trouble should not procure him the sale of a single 
article, he will express no other regret than of his 
inability to gratify the wishes of one who may return 
to-morrow and be a purchaser, or whose recommen- 
dation may send him a new customer. Should you 
travel into the country, the innkeeper, (if your appear- 
ance carry the promise of a handsome expense,) will 
meet you at his gate, like the govenor of a castle with 
the keys in his hand, and, for the time being, invest, 
you with absolute authority ; every eye shall be vigi- 
lant to catch the least intimation of your pleasure, and 
every hand be forward to put it in execution. Above 
all, should you direct your attention to those who are 
in pursuit of court emolument, you will commonly 
find them full of observance towards every one who 
can in the least contribute to their purpose, even down 
to the valet or the porter, who may facilitate their ac- 
cess to a man in power. 



1 54 On the Evils incident to Retirement, [p art 1 1. 

Ambition is another motive which no less pow- 
erfully disposes men to civility; though its influ- 
ence be less extensive, and confined chiefly to th^ 
upper ranks of society. He who pants after dis- 
tinction, and is aware of the opposition he may 
have to encounter from the same aspiring temper 
in his equals, and from the jenvy of his inferiors, 
will be studious of all the arts of courtesy; will 
learn to stoop in order to rise, though he should 
afterwards spurn the ladder by which he ascended. 
All this is practised daily iii the world, yet perhaps 
never in this nation to so high a degree as at the 
return of every seventh year, when the whole poli- 
tical ambition of the country is called forth by the 
election of a new parliament. 

The last motive to civility I shall mention, is the 
need we find of it to preserve harmony even in our 
friendly interviews. If every one should bluntly 
assert his secret pretensions, I fear there are few 
occasions of social intercourse which would not be 
converted into scenes of indecent altercation: one 
man would challenge precedence because he thought 
himself the wisest; another, on account of his birth 
or figure in the world ; and a third, perhaps, be- 
cause he supposed himself the wealthiest in the 
company : in order, therefore, to maintain the 
peace, well-bred people agree in such cases to sus- 
pend their several claims, and to act towards one 
another with apparent deference and respect. 



SECT. III.] On the Evils bicidejit to Retiretnent. I5ci 

Such are the ordinary motives to civility, and 
such is their operation in public life. Let us now 
consider them in relation to retirement, where their 
influence is much less, and often overpowered by 
contrary principles. 

He >vho spends his days at a distance from the 
busy scenes of the world, who is neither engaged 
in the traffic of the city, nor in the intrigues or em- 
ployments of a court, and who, by his independent 
circumstances, is rather in a condition to extend 
than to receive assistance, can have no strong in- 
dvicement, from views of interest, to treat others 
with much attention; and for want of such a motive 
to counteract his natural pride, increased in this 
case by the advantages of fortune, he will be prone 
to act, at least towards his inferiors, with a degree 
of neglect or rudeness. Nor is a country gentleman 
more likely to be formed to courtesy by motives of 
ambition, unless they should prompt him to solicit 
a seat in parliament, or some other public situation 
which could not easily be obtained without the re- 
commendation of popular manners; and then he 
would no longer be the retired man of whom we 
speak. And in regard to the last motive to civility 
we have stated, arising from the need we find of it 
in order to harmonize our social interviews, it is 
evident that, in proportion to the degree of abstrac- 
tion in which we live, this consideration must have 
less influence, and will more easily give way to every 
sally of humour or passion. 



1 56 On the Evils incident to Retirement* [part ii. 

Hence it may appear, that the retired man, un- 
less he be willing tamely to yield the palm of cour- 
tesy to the man of the world, must recur to motives 
of a superior nature, such as the views of reason 
and religion will readily supply. Among the topics 
to this purpose, I shall only suggest the following : 

First, let him consider the dignity of our common 
nature, that it was originally formed in the image 
of God, and, notwithstanding it is now fallen from 
its primitive perfection, is still endowed with many 
noble powers and capacities, which sometimes 
break forth amidst all the disadvantages of a mean 
condition. Let him next consider, that he whom 
he is tempted to regard with disdain, would proba- 
bly be found, if all circumstances were duly esti- 
mated, better entitled to respect than himself. And, 
lastly, let him take into his account the possible as 
well as actual state of others; and though human 
nature, for the most part, is little better than a ruin, 
let him remember, it is the ruin of a temple, and 
that this temple may again be raised to more than its 
primeval glory. It is impossible for him who is un- 
der the impression of such views, to treat any of his 
fellow-creatures either with rudeness or indiffe- 
rence. 

V. Another evil) which is apt to grow up in re- 
tirement, is churlishness^ or that kind of brutality 
which is made up of low insolence and sordid par* 



SECT. III.] On the Evils incident to Retirement. 157 

simony. Of this base disposition we have a striking 
example in Nabal, whose behaviour, as recorded in 
the first book of Samuel,* entitles him to a dis- 
graceful pre-eminence among the race of churls. 
This man, instead of that ready compliance which 
became him, to the request of the anointed king of 
Israel, who intreated him In terms the most oblig- 
ing and respectful to be admitted to share in his hos- 
pitality, at a season when the most unfeeling and 
contracted heart is apt to expand with kindness, re- 
plied rudely to his messengers, Who is David^ and 
-who is the son of Jesse ? There be many servants 
now-a-days that break axvay every man from his 
master* Shall I take 7ny breads and my water ^ and 
my flesh that I have killed for my shearers^ and give 
it unto men zuhom I know not whence they be? It is 
no wonder that such an insulting denial inflamed 
the indignation of a prince whose spirit was un- 
doubtedly generous, (whatever were his failings,) 
and put him upon sudden thoughts of vengeance. 

This Nabal, we are told, had three thousand 
sheep and a thousand goats on mount Carmel : he 
was rich for those ages, and probably passed his 
days in the midst of his servants and dependents ; 
and when these circumstances meet v/ith a mind 
unformed by education, the natural product is a 
churh This conjunction is indeed less frequent in 
the present times, when almost every country gen- 

* Chap. xxv. 



1 j8 On the Evils incident to Retirement, [part ij, 

tleman or wealthy farmer, instead of confining his 
son at home to converse with rustics and fatten bul- 
locks, sends him into the world to acquire a tinc- 
ture of letters, and a civility of deportment, which 
may qualify him, upon his return, to act his part 
with a degree of decency. 

By this mode of education the tribe of churls 
has been diminished, and their character mitigated; 
so that now we may traverse the country without 
often meeting with one of those discourteous 
knights, who are so far broken oif from the general 
system of humanity, as to^repel the stranger from 
their gate, or entertain a guest with a surly penu- 
rious hospitality. 

Thus, by a wide diifusion of knowledge and po« 
iiteness, this kind of human savage is almost dri- 
ven from our coasts; and were it not for a blind 
indulgence, which sometimes leaves the heir of the 
family to be bred vip in the stable amidst hounds 
and hordes, instead of sending him forth to partake 
of the general progress of society, or providing for 
his instruction at home, we might hope to see the 
race wholly exterminated. 

VI. The last evil I shall notice as incident to 
retirement is misanthropy; which, by the following 
short deduction, will appear to be the natural term 
and completion of the several evils already stated. 
I shall name them again in the sam.e order. 



SECT. III.] On the Evils incident to Retirement. 159 

Idleness. Man is formed for action; and his fa- 
culties, if not duly exercised upon their proper ob- 
jects, will be apt to turn inward, and prey upon 
himself; and this secret corrosion can hardly fail to 
operate upon his temper, and render it harsh and 
repulsive. In this, as in other instances, the mind 
bears a striking analogy to the body, which we 
know is liable to be troubled with sharp and acrid 
humours, unless they are prevented or thrown off 
by a course of regular exercise. Indeed, when the 
active principle is naturally feeble or indisposed to 
exertion, idleness may associate for a time with 
good humour, till calamity, sickness, or old age, 
calls for those powers of resistance or sufferance 
which have not been provided; and then the slug- 
gard will be left to experience the bitter* conse- 
quences of his neglect, in a fretful impatience with 
himself, and a peevish dissatisfaction with those 
about him. 

Humour. In the first part of life, many caprices 
of fancy and behaviour pass off v/ithout sensible in- 
convenience. Youth and beauty are every where 
received with particular kindness, and the faults or 
foibles which usually attend them are overlooked 
amidst their natural attractions. But as advancing 
years cast a damp on that vivacity, and impair those 
I graces of person, which enchant our imaginations, 
and disarm our better judgments,, the defects of 
character are more clearly discerned, and discerned 



160 On the Evils incident to RettremenU [part ii. 

too without a disposition to treat them v/ith our 
former indulgence. Hence those sallies of humour, 
which before were tolerated, and perhaps pleasing, 
are now no more endured;, they encounter a grow- 
ing opposition from the humour or reason of others, 
which must naturally produce a peevish resentment ; 
and peevishness, if indulged, will rankle into ma« 
Jignity. 

Conceit. He who prides himself upon qualities of 
which he is either destitute, or possessed in a less 
degree than he supposes, will sometimes, at least, 
find his pretensions treated with expressions of con- 
tempt or pity; and this can hardly fail to call forth 
his malevolent passions ; for since there can be no 
thorough confidence or satisfaction but in truth, 
such a man must have a secret misgiving that his 
claims are ill-founded, and consequently is in no 
capacity to bear their rejection, and in a manner so 
humiliating, with patience ; and must either dismiss 
the false opinion he entertains of himself, or be li- 
able to an implacable resentment; unless he is so 
beset with inferiors and dependents, or so intoxica- 
ted with the praise of flattery, or the admiration of 
ignorance, that truth can find no access, or make 
, no durable impression. 

Incivility. As this, in its own nature, implies a 
want of due respect to others, it may be consider- 
ed as a species of injury; and, as we commonly 



SECT. III.] On the Evils incident to Retirement. 161 

bear some resentment towards those whom we have 
injur^, it follows, that by a course of ill manners, 
disrespect may grow at length into hatred. Be- 
sides, incivilities provoke a return in the same kind, 
and, by this ungentle reciprocation, the parties be- 
come mutually irritated, and an implacable feud is 
engendered. These trespasses upon good behaviour 
are also the more dangerous, as the remedy is dif- 
ficult. There are few whose pride in such cases 
will suffer them to seek an explanation; and for 
want of it, a slight discourtesy is often brooded 
over in secret till it swells into an unpardonable of- 
fence; like a scratch upon a distempered body, 
which, by the omission of a timely application, 
rankles into a virulent ulcer. Nor is it any ordina- 
nary degree of virtuous magnanimity which that 
man has attained, who, upon such occasions, when 
he finds his own strength too feeble to resist the 
impression, can say to his friend, / am hurt^ have 
pity upon me, and pour in the healing balm before 
the poison has reached the vitals. 

Churlishness* This depravity of character ap- 
proaches so nearly to misanthropy, that it is need- 
less to point out their connexion. 

The particular remedies of these evils may be 
sought in what has been observed upon them seve- 
rally; but the general remedy is charity* This, of 
all the principles in the universe, is the most pow- 

P2 



162 On the Evils incident to Retirement. [vA^r it. 

erful and active, and the grand spring of all the vir- 
tuous conduct that is found amongst men. It has 
no caprices; it affects no singularities, either of sen- 
timent or behaviour ; but, as far as it may be done 
with innocence, takes the ply of the occasion, and 
is made all things to allmen^ in order to their good^ 
It is lowly and unassuming, vaunteth not itself^ is 
not puffed xip* It renders all the civilities that are 
expressive of pure benevolence, and all the respects 
which belong to the different orders of society; 
honour to whom honour^ fear to whom fear. In a 
word, when taken in its full extent, it comprizes 
the whole of human duty; every law of kindness 
or courtesy^ of religion or humanity. 




RURAL PHILOSOPHY, 

PART III. 
REFLECTIONS ON HAPPINESS. 



SECTION L 

On the Hafifiiness arising from the Indefiendence^ the Agri- 
cultural Pursuits^ the Diversions^ and Scenery -^ of a 
Country Life* 

A HE idea of rural felicity is so congenial with 
the human mind, that we cannot wonder to find it 
cherished amidst all the hurry and dissipation of 
public life ; especially if we consider, that such a 
life is often attended with labour and sorrow, with 
weariness and disappointment. When we look 
abroad into the world, we see one man fixed down 
to his desk or stationed behind his counter, and, 
from morning to night, busily engaged in casting 
his accompts, or dealing out his commodities, with 
scarce sufficient intervals for the refreshment or 
support of nature. We see another, in aspiring af- 
t^r some place of public honpur or profit, racked 



164 Pleasures of Rural Independence, [part hi. 

with suspense in the pursuit, frequently baffled in 
his object, and, if at length successful, dissatisfied 
With the acquisition. While a third, whose situation 
may seem more enviable, who, alike exempt from 
the toils of the city and the ambition of the court,, 
has no other concern than to enjoy the amusements 
and pleasures of life, is often found a miserable prey 
to chagrin, from the caprices and jealousies which 
are sure to infest the brightest circles of gaiety and 
fashion. In all these cases, the mind naturally looks 
forward to the country, to the independence of 
some rural retreat, the peaceful labours of husban- 
dry, the diversions of the field, or the scenery of 
nature, for purer sources of enjoyment. Let us then 
briefly inquire, under these several heads, how far 
they are likely to answer such an expectation. 

I. Firsts of independence. By this the retired man 
is secured from many hurries and impertinences of 
public life. He is not obliged, when exhausted in 
body or mind, to run to the Exchange, or to wait 
upon his patron. He is not exposed to the trifling 
conversation and unseasonable intrusion of the 
world ; his walks by day are free from idle inter- 
ruption, and his doors by night are undisturbed by 
importunate visits. He enjoys, in a word, that 
privilege which, in the general opinion of mankind, 
gives the chief advantage to an independent retire- 
ment, when compared with a life spent in public, 
aamely, the liberty to act without foreign controiJ? 



SECT. I.] Pleasures of iRural Independence* 165 

and agreeably to the native sense of his own mind. 
Whereas, the more any man is engaged in the world, 
the more he must expect to be thwarted by it, and 
the more constrained to give up his own will to that 
of others ; which is a submission naturally harsh 
and unpleasing. The great contest among men is, 
who shall have his own way ; and he who seeks his 
fortune or happiness through the medium of their 
favour, must often lackey to their opinions and fan- 
cies, and sometimes be content to suffer patiently 
their indignities. Even the honest tradesman must 
be obsequious to the humours of his customers; 
and he who would climb at court must prepare him- 
self to encounter the proud man's contumely, the 
insolence of office, and the spurns of many a base 
retainer to those in power. 

On the other hand, it must be considered that a 
rural independence, like every other condition of 
human life, can yield no real satisfaction, except to 
those who are qualified duly to improve it. To be 
thus qualified, a man must possess a just command 
of himself, and an ability to fill up his leisure in a 
rational manner. He must not carry his humours 
and passions along with him into his retreat, which 
might breed him more disquiet there than he suf- 
fered in the world before ; as, in such a state of 
mind, he would probably find it more difficult to 
please himself, than ever he did to please the most 
capricious and tyrannical of his fellow-citizens. He 



166 Pleasures of Rural Independerice. [part iii- 

must also be able to strike out some little business 
which may engage a portion of his time usefully, 
or at least innocently ; to delight in converse with 
himself, or with the wise and learned of past ages; 
and to find sufficient entertainment within his own 
family circle : otherwise, for want of objects to 
awaken his attention, and to call forth an exertion 
of his faculties, he will be liable to sink into a state 
of inaction, and in gaining an exemption from the 
burden of external affairs, to become a burden to 
himself; which, of all the loads that bear hard up- 
on our feeble nature, is one of the most intolerable. 
Without such resources, he will be tempted to look 
back with regret upon the world he has left behind 
him, where his thoughts were at least diverted from 
settling into painful reflections upon his interior 
state, and where, though he was seldom much 
pleased, he was often amused, and generally occu- 
pied. 

II. Agriculture. Thepleasuresof agriculture would 
stand very high in our account, were we to estimate 
them by the celebration they have received both from 
poets and philosophers. The following passages from 
Virgil and Cicero may serve as a specimen; 

Thrice happy, if his happiness he knows, 
The country swain, on whom kind heav'n bestows 
At home ail riches that wise nature needs. 
Whom the just earth with easy plenty feeds. 
Free from th' alarms of fear, and storms of strife, 
Deep in the bosom of secjuester'd life^ 



sEtT. I.] Pleasures of Rural Indepcndente. 167 

His years are past, with every blessing crown'd, 
And the soft wings of peace cover him round.* 

Cicero, in the person of the elder Cato, thus speaks: 
I come now to discourse of the pleasures which accom" 
pany the labours of the husbandman^ and with which 
I myself am delighted beyond expression. They are 
pleasures xuhich meet with no obstruction even from 
old age^ and seem to approach nearest to those of true 
wisdovi.'f To the same purpose he again speaks a 
little afterwards. 

These panegyrics, to be just, must be understood 
with great limitations, and can never be generally ex- 
tended to that numerous body of men who are em- 
ployed in the culture of the earth. There is scarce, 
perhaps, any condition of life which is attended with 
more anxiety than that of a common farmer: to him 

* O fortunatos nimium, sua si bona norint, 

Agricolas ! quibus ipsa, procul discordibus armis, 

Fandit humo facilem victum justissima tellas. 

Si non ingentem foribus domus alta superbis 

Mane salotantum totis vomit sedibus undam, 

— At secura quies, et nescia fallere vita, 

Non absunt. Virg. Georg. lib. 2. 

t Venio nunc ad voluptates agricolarum, quibus ego incredi- 
feiliter delector; quae nee uUa impediuntur senectute, et mihi 
ad sapientis vitam proxime videntur accedere. Habent enim 
rationem cum terra, quae nunquam recusat imperium, nee un- 
quam sine usura reddit, quod accepit. — Quamquam me quidem 
fton fructus modo sed etiam ipsius terrae vis ac natura delectat^ 
Cicero de Senectute, CTip. 15. 



168 Pleasures of Rural Independence, [part hi. 

a bad year is a serious calamity: he is anxious to lay 
in happily his seed; he is then anxious for seasons 
favourable to its growth ; and, after his fields are be- 
come ripe for the harvest, almost every cloud that 
flies over his head is an object of apprehension. Such 
high encomiums, therefore, can never be applicable, 
except in the case of a country gentleman who is not 
obliged to live on the fruits of his own industry, by 
whom a barren year is not felt, and who retains no 
more of his grounds in his own hands than may serve 
to his convenience or amusement. And even here 
the happiness is found often to exist merely in con- 
templation. It was some such form of life which ap- 
pears to have smitten the imagination of Cowley; 
and what was the consequence? When he came at 
length to take possession of his elysium, he met with 
so rude a reception, that others, who indulge them- 
selves in a like prospect, may learn thence to mode- 
rate their expectations. " The first night,'' says he, 
in a letter to Dr. Sprat, *' that I came hither, I caught 
so great a cold, with a defluxion of rheum, as made 
me keep my chamber ten days; and, two after, had 
such a bruise on my ribs with a fall, that I am yet 
unable to move or turn myself in my bed. This is 
my personal fortune here to begin with. And, be- 
sides, I can get no money from my tenants, and have 
my meadows eaten up every night by cattle put in by 
my neighbours. What this signifies, or may come to 
in time, God knows; if it be ominous, it can end in 
nothing less than hanging."^ Two years afterwards, 

* See Johnson's Life of Cowley. 



I 



^ECT. I.] Pleasures of Rural Independence. 169 

he died; and thus terminated his plan of rural feli- 
city. 

It must however be acknowledged, that there are 
few occupations more adapted to yield a rational de- 
light than those of husbandry, as well on account of 
their utilitj^, as of their suitableness to the primitive 
dignity of our nature. The culture of the ground was 
the original employment of man. Our first parents 
were placed in the garden of Eden to dress and to 
keep it; and there seems in their posterity a kind of 
Instinctive disposition to recover at least an external 
image of the paradisiacal state. There is scarce any 
one, however privileged or exalted he may be in the 
world, who does not sometimes please himself in the 
prospect of rural labours and enjoyments, who do^ 
not hope some day to adorn his ov/n garden or culti- 
vate his own farm, and to sit down in repose under 
his own vine or fig-tree: and among the greatest 
])ersonages in every age, who have gathered laurels 
in the field, or successfully governed kingdoms, we 
are told of some wdio have found, in the shade of re- 
tirement and agricultural occupatioi:s, that secret sa- 
tisfaction v/hich they had never experienced amidst 
the splendours of a court or the triumphs of victory. 
And the same spirit of content v/ill be diiTused among 
mankind at large, when they shall have learned, ac- 
cording to the word of prophecy, to beat their swords 
into plough-shares^ and their spears into pruning- 
hooks ; when, by a general prevalence of piety, the 
reapers, like those of Eoaz, in gathering in the har- 

Q 



170 Pleasures of Rural Independence, [part hi. 

vest, shall say to the master, The Lord be with thee^ 
and he shall answer, The Lord bless you;^ and when 
every ruler shall become the shepherd of his people, 

III. Rural Diversions. As it might justly be 
thought impertinent for one who is no sportsman to 
imdertake to estimate the pleasures of fowling and 
hunting, I shall dismiss this topic very briefly. It is 
certain that, in point of present gratification, every 
pleasure is such as it is felt to be; and therefore, if 
any one finds himself delighted in wandering through 
the woods with his fowling piece, or in scouring the 
country along with dogs and horses and desperate 
riders, to the terror of an innocent quadruped, it 
would be in vain to dispute against his experience. 
To what persons, or in what cases, such diversions are 
allowable, I leave others to determine; and shall 
content myself to observe, what I suppose none will 
deny, that when they are made a principal object, 
their manifest tendency is to induce an incapacity for 
nobler enjoyments, and so to lay the foundation of a 
despicable old age; for it would seem difficult to 
imagine a character more entirely sunk, and devoid 
of all respectability, than that of an old womout 
sportsman, the vigour of whose days has been was- 
ted in mere animal exertions, and v/hose memory is 
stored with nothing better than the history of hares 
and foxes, of rustic adventures and perilous escapes; 
and who dreams away the evening of life, like the 
hound sleeping upon his hearth^ in retracing the vair 
images of his wild and sportive excursions. 

* Ruth, ii. 4 



SECT. I.] Pleasures of Rural Independence. 15^1 

IV- Rural scenenj. With the pleasures of rural 
scenery, every inhabitant of a temperate climate, and 
especially of this favoured island, where nature 
smiles almost in perpetual verdure, must in some 
degree be acquainted. These pleasures are natural 
to man, and accompany him from childhood to youth, 
from youth to manhood, and from "manhood to de- 
crepid age. 

The views of nature are not only pleasing in them- 
selves, but become still more so from their associa- 
tion with other pleasures which enliven our early 
days. It is then that a redundant flow of health and 
spirits produces a sense of vigour, and a secret glad- 
ness of heart, not unlike what our common progeni- 
tor is supposed to have felt immediately upon his 
^teation, and which he is made to express as follows •, 

As new vvak'd from soundest sleep, 
Strait toward heav'n my wond'ring eyes I turnM, 
And gaz'd awhile the ample sky, till rais'd 
By quick instinctive motion, up I sprung", 
As thitherward endeavouring", and upright 
Stood on my feet ; — 
Myself I then perused, and limb by limb 
Surveyed, and sometimes went and sometimes ran 
With supple joints^ as lively vigour led, 
And felt that I %vas happier than I hieiv. 

It is this fulness of life and self-enjoyment which 
sheds a brightness on every surrounding object, on 
hiil and dale, forest and plain, along with every part 
of animated: nature; and which renders the placid 



172 Pleasures of Rural Independence, [part lUs 

murmurs of a rlVulet, the rushing of a distant tor- 
rent, or the wild music of the woods, more exqui- 
sitely delightful^han all the harmony of Handel at a 
later period, when the sensitive organs are become 
obtuse, and the mind less susceptive of agreeable 
emotions. Hence arises our fondness for rural scenes^ 
and for those above all where we have spent the 
early part of life. There is no man, I suppose, who 
can fail to recover some pleasing image of his school- 
boy days, upon revisiting, though after the longest 
absence, those fields and woods where he v/as accus- 
tomed to wander, at a season when his senses and 
imagination were no less impressible by the novelty 
than by the beauties of nature. 

This predilection for places and objects v/ith which 
we were first conversant, extends itself to others that 
resemble them, and consequently may afford one 
reason why the same natural scenery is not equally 
agreeable to every spectator: and, should we be re* 
quired more fully to account for this difference, we 
might add to the effect of early associations that 
which arises from variety of character. Men are apt 
to be best pleased with whatever bears the greatest 
likeness to themselves: whence, in general, those v;ho 
have a turn for sublimity will be most delighted with 
vast plains or majestic forests, with ranges of lofty 
mountains, or spacious vallies watered with copious 
rivers; others, of a less elevated genius, will love to 
dwell on scenes which partake more of beauty than 
of grandeur; while the philanthropist v/ill take the 



I 



SECT, i.j Pleasures Of Ritral Independence. m 

greatest pleasure in the view of lands for pasture or 
tillage, wavmg with harvest or stocked with cattle. 

upon different individuals, and it is often no less vari- 
ous upon the same individual at different times. Ac 
cording as he is cheerful or melancholy, grave or 
gay, the same prospect will be overcast with gloom 
or bright with illumination. The mind sheds ifs own' 
hue on every thing around it, and, as it were with 
the wand of a magician, converts a paradise into a 
tlesert, and a desert into a paradise. 

Hence it may seem probable, that the greater part 
of the pleasure we experience in the contemplation 
of external nature, arises from a reflected image of 
ourselves. But whatever be the delight it affords us, 
. irom this or other causes, the amount I apprehend t<r 
oe much less than is sometimes represented. 

Were we to listen to certain writers, we might 
ahnostbe led to imagine, that little more is necessary 
to charm awa.v all our disquietudes, than some rural 
scene agreeably diversified. We may all, says a late 
author, live in Arcadia, if we please. The beauties of 
a crystal spring, a silent grove, a daisied meadow, 
will chasten the feelings of the heart, and afford at 
all times a permanent and pure delight.* Such senti- 
• mental notions savour strongly of puerility, and are 

' Zimmermann on Solitude, p. 268. 

Q2 



174 pleasures of Rural Independence* [part in. 

no proof of that extraordinary progress of reason and 
philosophy which is the great boast of the present 
age. Rather, they seem to indicate a retrograde mo- 
tion, from reason to imagination, and from imagina- 
tion to sense andmere animal instinct. Who zvouldiiot^ 
observes the same writer, renounce the universt: for 
one single tear oflovel f An exclamation more suited 
to Anthony and Cleopatra, or to some silly romance, 
than to the gravity of a discourse either moral or 
philosophical. 

Zimmermann knew very well, as every man must 
know, that happiness is infinitely more dependent 
on the state of the mind than upon any external cir- 
cumstances; and that virtue is the chief source of en- 
joyment. He knew that, under the corrosion of guilt, 
and the tyranny of the passions, \yq can derive little 
relief from crystal springs^ or silent groves^ or daLied 
meadozvs^ and that recourse must be had to more 
powerful remedies before we can relish the beauties 
and taste the composure of still life. All this he knew, 
and has frequently expressed; and it is to be la- 
mented, that one who seems to have been meant by 
nature for an amiable philosopher, should have run 
into the sentimental extravagancies of the citizen of 
Geneva, and disgracefully listed himself in the num- 
ber of his vmhappy admirers and panegyrists. 

To exchange the bustle of business, and the gay 
amusements of society, for fields and woods, or 

t Id. p. 240. 



,ECT. I.] Pleasures of Rural Independence. 175 

silence and solitude, is so far from being alone suffi- 
cient to ensure a life of true contentment, that, to most 
men, after the novelty was past, it would produce such 
a sense of want and deprivation, as if their former ex- 
istence had suffered a diminution ; or as if, from a 
region of light and plenitude, they had fallen into a 
dreary state of darkness and vacuity. This should be 
a lesson to all who meditate a retreat from the world, 
and induce them to cultivate before-hand those qua- 
lities and habits, which may add life and interest to 
the calm prospects and silent exhibitions of rural na- 
ture. And if there be any who have sequestered them- 
selves without this due preparation, they ought to suf- 
fer patiently the effects of their rashness: at the same 
time, there' is no reason why they should sit down in 
despondence,sinceby a proper attention tothemselves, 
and a steady and gentle perseverance, those more 
delicate powers of perception which are adapted to 
still life, and which, amidst the tumult of the world, 
have lain neglected and depressed, may yet gradually 
be recovered, and called forth into happy activity. - 

Still %ye must remember, that as age advances, and 
the senses and imagination grow languid, the most 
beautiful scenes of nature will lose their natural at- 
traaions; and that it is only the relation in which 
they stand to their Almighty Creator, and his glory 
thence reflected, that can render them lasting objects 
of our delightful contemplation. 



r i?6 1 



SECTION IT. 



The Pleasures of a literary Retirement. 



I 



N the preceding parts of this small work, the same 
topics have recurred under different aspects. Historif 
and Philosophy have been considered in their relation 
to K?20xvledge and Virtue; and will now again be 
viewed, together with Poetri/^ in the relation they 
bear to Happiness^ or to those pleasures which they 
a[re suited to yield to their respective votaries. Lest 
such a recurrence should strike a less attentive reader 
as no more than a repetition, it seemed proper to pre- 
mise this remark. 

We now proceed to the subject of the present sec- 
tion, under the threefold distribution here specified. 

I. ON THE PLEASURES ARISING rROUrl THE STUDY Oi- 
HISTORY. 

According to a very sagacious observer, the his- 
tory of mankind is " little else but the history of un- 
comfortable, dreadful passages ; and that a great part 
of it, however things are palliated and gilded over, is 
scarcely to be read by a good-natured man w^ithout 
amazement, horror, tears."^ And a few pages after- 
wards he thus speaks: "To one who carefully pe** 

f WoUaston's Religion of Nature, p. 382. 



SECT. ii»] Pleasures of aUterary Retirement. 177 

ruses the stoiy and face of the v/orld, what appears 
to prevail in it? Is it not corruption, vice, iniquit}% 
folly at least? Are not debauching, getting y;^r y?/^ 
ant iiefas., defaming one anothv^r, erecting tyrannies 
of one kind or other, propagating empty and sense- 
less opinions with bawling and fury, the great busi- 
ness of this world ?'^ This indeed is a sad and melan- 
choly view; let us therefore endeavour to relieve the 
doom, by presenting the history of mankind under 
^ome other aspects. 

The pleasure we derive from the perusal of ancient 
history is partly because it is ancient. The mind, be- 
ing formed for what is infinite, is naturally delighted 
with an image of unlimited duration as w^ell as of un- 
bounded space. The retrospection of events, which 
are faintly discerned in the depth of past ages, is no 
less pleasing than the view of an extensive prospect, 
where the dusky hills in the extremity of the horizon 
are scarcely distinguishable from the clouds. Further, 
we are gratified with every information relative to the 
primitive state of mankind, upon the same principle 
that nations or great families are particularly delighted 
in tracing the history of their founders or remote an- 
cestors. Lastly, the simplicity of ancient manners, so 
different from our own, is another source of the plea- 
sure we e:Lperience in our inquiries into the earliest 
ages. While we contemplate the patriarchal times, 
we seem transported into a new world, where men 

Id. p. 392. 



178 Pleasures of a literary Retireme7if, [part hi* 

acted more under the conduct of uncorrupted nature, 
and, as Plato has expressed it, lived nearer to the gods; 
for it is observable, that as we advance farther into 
antiquity, we enter into regions of purer light, where 
the principles and salutary influence of true and pri- 
mitive religion become more sensible and apparent. 

From these sources may be derived both pleasure 
and use; but when our primitive researches degene- 
rate into a mere investigation of names and dates, and 
other circumstances which throw no light on religion 
or morals, on human nature or human life, however 
they may amuse a vacant mind, they can yield neither 
profit nor any rational satisfaction. 

We sometimes meet with men, under the title of 
antiquarians^ who rate things more by the characters 
of age with which they are impressed, than by their 
real value; and who place their chief delight in the 
collection of old manuscripts or old medals, or other 
fragments of old time, which have nothing to recom- 
mend them but their rust or their rarity. This is a 
taste so very odd and extravagant as to render any 
attempt to expose it perfectly untiecessary. 

The study of modern history, by which I here un- 
derstand the history of the last four hundred years, 
is generally more pleasing than that of preceding 
ages; and for this among other reasons, because it is 
attended with more interest. In the former part of 
the above period commenced a new aera, learning be- 



SECT. II.] Pleasures of a literary RetiremenU 179 

gan to revive, the darkness of superstition to be dis- 
persed, and Christianity to recover a good degree of 
its original purity; the feudal constitutions declined, 
commerce lifted up its head, and the mass of nations 
broke loose from that state of vassalage in which they 
had been held for ages; and under this order oF 
things it is that we now live, and still continue to ex- 
perience its happy effects. It must therefore be high- 
ly delightful to look back to those times in which our 
most valuable blessings and privileges took their rise, 
and to trace them in their progress to the present 
day. 

But the greatest pleasure we can receive from the 
study of history is in tracing the kingdom of God 
amongst men. The Bible is the great authentic re- 
cord of this kingdom, and points out its progress from 
its original to its final consummation. Like the dawn- 
ing light which shines more and more to the perfect 
daif^ in this record is discovered the first promise of 
a deliverer to a lapsed world, with its gradual disclo- 
sure through successive ages, till its accomplishment 
in the Messiah; and its prophecies carry forward our 
view to the end of all things, when the mijsterij of 
God shall be finished. It exhibts in the book of Job 
a noble monument of patriarchal religion ; and, after 
the defection of the nations to idolatrj-, it shows us a 
people set apart to be a witness to the only true God, 
and a depository of his laws and counsels ; together 
with the different treatment they met with, according 
to the difference of their behaviour. And to add only 



180 Pleasures of a literary Retirement, [part i\u 

one instance more (for a particular deduction would 
be endless) of the important matter contained in this 
record, it describes to us in the gospels the first foun- 
dations of the Christian church; and in the acts of the 
apostles its early and wonderful progress; and all this 
with a brevity and simplicity that can only be account- 
ed for by the truth of the narrative. 

^ ' . . ' Si 

If from scripture we turn to other histories, w^^^ 
may there discover many vestiges of primitive verity, 
some of them clear and manifest, others more or less 
obscured or defaced. As we ascend into antiquity 
they become (as we have before observed) more dis- 
tinct, but there is no age in which they are not dis- 
cernible; nor is there any quarter of the globe at this 
day where such vestiges are not found, as appears from 
our late voyages and travels. Nay, the mythologies 
of heathenism are partly a corruption of ancient tra- 
dition, or of scripture facts and characters; and an 
image of truth is discoverable amidst these clouds. 
Such glimpses and footsteps of God are interesting 
even in fable ; while they render the page of authentic 
history, notv/ithstanding all the evils Vv^ith which it is 
crovv^ded, a source of the purest satisfaction to every 



serious and intelligent reader. 



Next to the pleasure we may derive as Christians 
from the study of history, is that which we may de- 
rive fi'om it as Britons: for where shall w^e find among 
any people, ancient or modern, a political constitution 
so happily balanced, a liberty so extensive and so wise- 



SECT. II.] Pleasures of a literary ReiiremenU 181 

ly guarded, such encouragement for industry, and such 
security in the enjoyment of its fruits ? In vain should 
we direct our attention to the monarchies of the old 
world, to the republics of Greece or Rome, or to any 
of those Gothic forms of government which have af- 
flicted these latter ages. And if we look around us, 
at this day, we shall find no people under heaven, if 
we except the United States of America, (which, 
though separated, we may still consider as an exten«» 
sidn of the British name and empire,) that cau for a 
laioment stand a comparison with this country in the 
circumstances now stated. To which we may add the 
natural advantages of the country itself, whose vaU 
j lies^ in the language of an old historian, are as Eshcol^ 
t whose forests are as Carmel^ whose hills as LebanoUy 
and whose defence is the ocean. And, to crown all 
( .these blessings, we enjoy the light of true religion in 
a degree at least equal to that of any other nation now 
^ existing. Happy, then, if we knew our own happiness, 
i- and were wise to improve the bounty and grace of 
I heaven so eminently displayed in our favour. 

O fortunatos nimium, bona si sua norint, 
Britannos ! 

I have touched upon these topics, because it con- 
( earns ev«.ry one, without indulging a peevish admi- 
1 ration of former times, to make the best of his own 
I age and country; and also to view the world at large 
«n the fairest light possible; that is, to view it rather 
in the relation it bears to God than to man; and, 
lastly, to dwell no more on its evils than may con- 
tribute to their correc;5on, or to his own individual 

R 



1 82 Pleasures of a literary Retirement, [p art in. 

security. An attention to these principles will serve 
to awaken his gratitude, and to regulate his conduct; 
and will enable him, in the bosom of retreat, to con- 
template, through the medium of general history, the 
various vicissitudes of human affairs, always with 
profit, and sometimes with the highest satisfaction 
and delight. 

II. ON THE PLEASURES OF POETRY; THEIR NATURE 
AND VALUE. 

From the pleasures of history we proceed to those of 
poetry; under which title may be comprised some of 
those compositions which are entirely fictitious, as 
well as those whose basis is some real subject, but 
adorned and heightenedbyimagination. And it must 
be allowed, that from such works, when executed with 
judgment, may be derived both delight and profit. 

The human mind, perhaps from some latent consci- 
ousness of its origin, is ever looking out for something 
more perfect than is now to be found actually exist- 
ing m sublunary nature; and when it meets with 
this, or something like this, in the descriptions of 
poets, it is struck with pleasing admiration. It loves 
to find itself transported into ideal scenes, where, 
by the power of genius, the scattered beauties 
of creation are collected and happily combined; 
and to be introduced to the contemplation of 
actions and characters wrought up beyond the • 
standard of real life. Nor do I know that it is al- 
ways unlawiUl, amidst this disorderly world, and ia 



SECT. II.] Pleasures of a literary Retirement. 183 

the absence of higher remedies, to yield for a mo- 
ment to this kind of enchantment; nor does it seem 
impossible that such images of excellence, by rousing 
and elevating the human faculties, may lead to inqui- 
ries after the perfection of our original state. 

As poetry, however, is one of the most power- 
ful instruments of our pleasure, we ought cautious- 
ly to examine, whether the pleasure it affords be at 
least innocent. Whenever we are pleased, it is be- 
cause some principle within us is gratified; ^nd as 
this is good or evil, so is the pleasure we experi- 
ence from it. If we are delighted, for instance, with 
the Iliad of Hom^r, it is because it finds something 

I correspondent in the state of ovir own minds ; and 
there is need to inquire, whether our delight does 
not spring from a secret sympathy with that ambi- 
tion of superiority, that indignant pride, and that 
implacable resentment, which are the predominant 
passions exhibited in this celebrated poem. If we 

, are exalted into rapture in the reading of Milton, 
we should strictly question ourselves, whether it is 

Itiot more from the proud adventurous opposition of 
Satan, and his rebel host, than from a view of the 
character and perfections of the Almighty, mani- 
fested in his condescending grace to man, and in 
the execution of his righteous vengeance upon his 

.enemies.* Or (to descend from this height) if we 

* It has been observed by some, and the remark I apprehend 
is not entirely without foundation, that Milton's real hero is Sa- 



184 Pleasures of a literary Retirement, [part hi* 

are enchanted with the dramas of Shakspeare, (one 
of the great idols of the time) we should examine, 
whether it is not rather in consequence of the sym- 
pathy we find with the vitiated spirit and manners 
of the world, than of the pleasure we derive from 
those just views of nature and human life that fre- 
<juently occur in the works of this extraordinary 
genius. It may be said, indeed, that our delight 
may arise from the talents displayed by an author, 
iseparate from the morality of his performance ; but 

tan. Instead of a rebel against the just authority and laws of 
his benign Creator, thismalignant chief is frequently represent- 
ed under the character of a generous patriot, who sacrifices his 
own personal ease and safety to the common cause of liberty 
and equality, of natural rights and original independence. And 
as the pride of human nature, without staying to consider in 
what sense they are admissible, is not indisposed to set up the 
same claims, it is not improbable that their general assertion, 
though from the lips and by the efforts of an apostate spirit, may 
have contributed its share to the general applause with which 
the Paradise Lost has been received in the world, and which it 
merits by much better titles. But my design in this note is not 
so much to tax the equivocal and captious pretensions now re- 
cited, as to put the young reader upon his guard against the fas- ; 
cinations of superior genius, when employed rather to elevate 
and adorn its subject, than to place it in its due light ; and to re- 
commend to his particular attention the following canon of sound 
criticism, namely, that nothing is truly either sublime or beautiful 
which is not just. V\^hen tried by this maxim, he may probably 
find that many shining passages in Milton, which before had 
dazzled his imagination and seduced his judgment, will fade 
away ; though many doubtless will still remain, sufRcient to vin- 
dicate to their author a place in the very first rank of poets, whe> 
ther ancient or modern, 



SECT. II.] Pleasures of a literary Retirement. 1 85 
the truth is, that, to a truly virtuous mind, misap. 
plied or prostituted talents can only be an object of 
grief or indignation. 

No pleasure canbepurerthanthe springfrom which 
it flows, and the springs of Parnassus are commonly 
polluted; theii^ ordinary quality is to inspire the 
irascible or sensual passions, to intoxicate rather 
than innocently to gladden and elevate the spirits. 
One of the fathers, somewhat harshly, has deno- 
minated poetry the wine ofdemcns, from his opinion 
of its tendency to inflate the mind with pride; and,- 
by a metaphor not harsher, he might have entitled 
it the Cup of Circe, which, according to the fiction 
of Homer, transformed the followers of Ulysses 
into brutes. From the severity of this censure there 
are, however, many poetical works, both in our own 
and in other languages, which ought to be exempt- 
ed; and some which merit a degree of praise, 
not only as they are suited to amuse the imagina- 
tion, but also to raise the sentiments and purify the 
passions. I speak with reserve, because an art, 
whose professed object is in general to captivate 
I through the medium of pleasure, is liable to just 
suspicion, and ought never to be entertained with 
favour, but when it appears under its proper subor* 
dinate character, either as a humble assistant to de. 
j votion, or when it follows in the train of reason and 
philosophy^ 

R2 



186 



pleasuresofaliteraryRetlrement. [part xn. 



XXI. OK THE PLEASURES AKTSINOrROM THE STUDY 
OF PHILOSOPHY. 

Though almost every part of human learning 
has, of late, been reduced under the empire of phi- 
losophy, I ;hall confine it, in the ^^^^^^^ 
vations, within narrower limits, and consider it as 
dtidei into natural (including the mathematics) 
.noral. and .netapkysical; and, under these several 
heads shall briefly inquire, what new sources of 
pleasure it may supply to the contemplative re- 

1. Natural Philosophy. The only solid basis on 
which this science can be erected is natura h.ory 
which is a study adapted to almost every taste, and 
Tevel to every understanding. There are few au- 
XI who are' read with more Z^J^f^^^';^^:- 
than Ray. Derham, Nieu-a>entyt, de la Pluche, Gold- 
tZh; to whom we may add Bufon, whde he keeps 
r hi proper character of a natural historian, .kI 
does not p^ay the part of an idle theorist While, 
t such Jorks, the imagination is -freshed w. Ha 
endless variety of pleasing scenes -/^^J-*;;^^/^ 
understanding and the heart are gratified with those 
innumerable characters of wisdom, power and 
goodness, which are obviously inscribed on the 
whole face of creation. 



SECT. II.] Pleasures of a literary Retirement. 187 

When from particular instances we proceed, by 
a just induction, to general laws, and from these to 
others more general, we then ascend into the pro- 
per region of philosophy, and at every step obtain 
more commanding views of nature. The delight 
afforded by this growing prospect, is something 
analogous to that which an ingenious traveller* ex- 
perienced in his journey to the top of mount Etna^ 
w^hen, upon looking around him, after a laborious 
ascent, the whole island of Sicily appeared as a map 
beneath his feet; and, as he further increased his 
elevation, other islands and countries opened gra- 
dually to his view. Only, there is a difference in the 
two cases ; that, in the latter, the summit may at 
last be gained, whereas, in the former, it is abso- 
lutely inaccessible. No man can find out the work 
that God makethfrojn the beginning to the end.-\ Both 
the first principles and the ultimate results of all 
things are alike concealed from us in impenetrable 
obscurity ; and all that a sober philosophy can in- 
tend, in order to relieve our ignorance, is to seek 
out and to prosecute those methods which may 
gradually lessen our distance from the two extremi- 
ties.J 

* Brydone. 

\ Eccles. ill. 11. 

\ Let me be permitted here farther to observe, for the sake 
of the younj? inquirer, that even within the limits above stated, 
he will be in constant danger of running into error, unless his 
unders^ftldmg be well reclaimed and disciplined, and made wil- 



188 Pleasures of a literary Retirement, [part hi. 

The light of experience presupposed, the true 
engine for the erection of natural science, as the 
present age has been convinced by the example of 
Newton, is not hypothesis, but geometry; which, 
besides its instrumental use, is in itself so trans- 
porting a study, that, probably. Homer felt less 
^rapture in his fictions, than Archimides in his de- 
monstrations ; for, as the intellect is the highest fa- 
culty of the soul, a sublimer emotion may be sup- 
posed to arise from its contact with truth, though 
of the lowest order, than any which can be produced 
by the exercise of our imaginative powers. Yet 
here, as in other speculations, the understanding 
must observe a measure, or its exertions will be 
lost in those elaborate trifles, which are properly 
denominated, by one of our poets, 



Tricks to shew the stretch of human brani. 
Mere curious pleasure, or ingenious pain. 



^ 



2. Moral Philosophy. From natural and mathe- 
matical philosophy, let us pass on to morale which, 

ling to follow the slow steps of experience. Without this prepa- 
ration, the first flattering- hypothesis, which promises to expedite 
his progress, will be sufficient to captivate his attention, till its 
fallacy is exposed by some untoward plienomena, or till it is sup- 
planted by some other tlieory of greater plausibility, or of later 
invention. Nor can it too much be regretted, that, by a fond 
pursuit of such illusory phantoms, the vigor of so many great ge- 
niuses has been wasted, and those days and years of retreat idly 
consumed, which, under a right direction, i^ight hkYe led to 
valuable discoveries. 



SECT. II.] Pleasures of a liter arij Retirement. 189 

to a prepared Inquirer, is more delightful than 
either, as may appear from the following reasons: 



First, because it is nobler. That the investigation 
of the noblest subjects is, to a capable mind, the 
most pleasing, is a position which cannot justly be 
disputed; nor that what is moral stands highest in 
the scale of excellence. Whence it follows, that in- 
quiries into the moral world are suited to yield a 
more sublime satisfaction than those that relate on- 
ly to the inanimate or merely sensitive parts of the 
creation, both of which occupy inferior degrees in 
the scale now mentioned. Nay, it is some faint re- 
flection of the Creator's moral glory, from these 
his lowest w^orks, that constitutes their chief lustre 
and beauty; which further evinces the superiority, 
here asserted, of moral to natural philosophy, and 
consequently to any speculations, however curious, 
upon mere abstract quantity, as these can only be 
considered as instrumental to the knowledge of 
nature. 

Secondly, the same may be argued from the su- 
perior importance of moral science. That subject 
which involves our greatest interests cannot fail, to 
a well-constituted mind, to afford the noblest plea- 
sure. Hence, to such a mind, it must be more sa- 
tisfactory to understand the measures of right and 
wrong, of just and unjust, of good and evil, than to 
be acquainted with the laws of matter and motion, 



190 Pleasures of a literary Retirement, [part hi. 

or the properties of lines and figures ; a knowledge 
which, at most, can only contribute to our present 
convenience or amusement, w^hereas the former 
immediately relates to our duty and final happi- 
ness. 

And, lastly J the same inference may be drawn 
from the congruity of moral science with our men- 
tal faculties. As man was formed to be a subject 
of the moral kingdom of God, the law of this 
kingdom was originally interwoven with his very 
being; and, notwithstanding his apostacy, still re- 
tains so much influence, even among the Gentiles, 
that they are said to he a law to themselves^ and to 
have the -work of the law written in their hearts.'^ 
This will hardly be affirmed of those laws whose 
discovery is the object of natural and mathematical 
philosophy, laws which, in general, bear much less 
affinity, and are attended v/ith much less evidence, 
to the human mind ; and to whose investigation, a 
laborious process of reason, together with a slow 
and gradual experience, is often necessary: so that, 
unless they can be proved either more excellent 
in their own nature, or more interesting to us, (nei- 
ther of which, I presume, can be done,) their inferi- 
ority, as a source of contemplative pleasure, cannot 
be disputed. 

* Rom. ii. 14, 15. 



SECT. II.] Pleasures of a literarii Retirement. 191 

3. Metaphijsks. Of metaphysical inquiries, w^ 
may observe, in the words of Tacitus, when speak- 
ing of the crafty counsels of worldly policy, that, 
however flattering in promise, they are generally 
difficult in the prosecution, and unhappy in the is- 
sue.* When a man retires into himself to consult 
his own ideas, without paying a humble attention 
to the works and ways of God in the creation and 
government of the world, and above all in the dis- 
coveries he has made in his word; or, in other 
terms, when he seeks truth more in the abstractions 
of his own mind than in the realities of nature and 
revelation; he is likely to terminate his career 
amidst all the perplexity of a dark and melancholy 
scepticism. 

Indeed, during that period, when curiosity is 
ardent, and the faculties lively and vigorous, such 
speculations, as we have before intimated, ma, be 
highly agreeable and flattering; but the case is 
otherwise in the decline of life. The mind, wearied 
with endless discussions, seeks repose as well as 
the body ; and this it can only find in plain and sub- 
stantial truth. Let him, therefore, who would reap 
the calm satisfaction of a studious retirement, be- 
ware of that seducing spirit which would lurJhim 
.away from the lightsome and fruitful paths of learn- 

* Consllia callida, prima specie l^ta, tractata dupa, eventu 
tristia. 



192 Pleasures of a literary Retirement. \vA'SiT. iii. 

ing into the dark and dreary regions of metaphysic 
subtilty. 

Quale per incertam lunam sub luce maligna 
Est iter in sylvis, ubl coelum condidit umbra 
Jupiter, et rebus nox abstulit atra colorem. 

Virgil. 

It would be endless to distribute into their seve- 
veral distinct classes the learned and the specula- 
tive of the present times ; or to enumerate the va- 
rious ways in which they endeavour to amuse their 
solitude. We may notice, however, a kind of uni- 
versal literati^ now become very common amongst 
us, who lightly skim the surface of human learning, 
are enamoured with every delicacy of composi- 
tion, or morsel of ingenious criticism, can feed de- 
liciously on scraps of Greek and Latin, or upon 
any old ballad supposed to be written before the 
days of Chaucer, or can riot at large in some cu- 
rious melange de literature &f de philosophies 

A prudent change of studies is indeed no less 
grateful and salutary to the intellectual, than a 
change of air or exercise to the animal part of our 
nature. When the mind is exhausted with long ap- . 
plication to scientific or abstruse subjects, she may 
often find relief in the lighter and more agreeable 
departments of learning, may expatiate in the inter- 
esting field of history, or wander in the flowery 
paths of poesy; or, if relaxed or scattered, for 



T. II.] Pleasures of a literary Retirement, 19a 

want of regular exertion, she may apply herself to 
mathematical, or even to metaphysical inquiries;^ 
just as, in regard to the body, it may be proper to 
climb the hill or to repose in the valley, according 
to the laxity or tension of the animal system. 

But, however judicious may be his plan for an 
interchange of studies, there will be frequent in- 
tervals when a wise man will quit his books and 
his speculations, in order to discharge the duties, 
and to share the innocent pleasures, of ordinary 
life ; when, instead of passing from Locke or New- 
ton to Homer or Virgil, to Thucydides or Livy, 
he will retire alike from philosophers, poets, and 
historians, to visit a neighbour, to enjoy the cheer- 

* The author thhiks it not improper to express, on this occa- 
sion, that he is so far from intending" to pass an indiscriminate 
censure on metaphysical learning , or on such general abstract 
reasoning as often is ranked under this title, that, in his opinion, 
there is no species of intellectual exertion, within certain 
bounds, and directed to just ends, which ought not to be both 
respected and encouraged: and he looks upon it as not the least 
among the many mischievous effects, produced by the sophis- 
try of Hume, Helvetius, Diderot, and otliers of the same 
school, that the most solid and important argumentation, if but. 
a little abstruse and remote from our ordinary apprehensions. 
Is in danger to be set aside as scholastic and metaphysical, 
even by sensible and good men; and still more by those, who 
are either too indolent to examine, or too incapable to under- 
stand, whatever lies out of the common road; and who are 
willing to conceal these defects under the taking pretext cf 
modesty and submission. 

S 



194 Pleasures of a literary Retirement, [part, hi. 

ful conversation of his own fire-side, or with an 
infantine spirit to divert himself with his children. 
Non semper arcum tendit Apollo* Man was formed 
for social intercourse, as well as for solitary con- 
templation ; and when these ends are pursued in a 
due manner, they contribute to their mutual ad- 
vancement. 



[ 195 ] 

SECTION III, 

21ie Pltasures of a devotiojial Retirement considered, 

Jl5eFORE we proceed to the immediate subject 
of this section it may be proper to premise two 
cautions, in order to guard those retired men, 
whose turn of mind is at once religious and specu- 
lative, from the danger, to which they are very 

1 liable, of mistaking a devotion merely philosophi- 
cal or mystical for that which is truly spiritual. 
Of a superstitious or monkish devotion we shall 

< treat in our progress. 

I - A spirit of philosophic devotion, kindled by a 
survey of the worl^^s o£ creation, will often express 
itself in a language similar to what we find in the 
following passage of our great poet: 

These are thy glorious works, parent of good, 
Almighty, thine this universal frame. 
How wondrous fair, thyself how wondrous then ! 
Unspeakable, who dwell'st above these heavens, 
To us invisible, or dimly seen. 
In these thy lowest works; yet these declare 
Thy goodness beyond thought, and pow'r divine? 

These sentiments of adoration, justly ascribed to 
our first parents, doubtless ascended as a grateful 
incense before the Almighty, prior to the original 



1 



196 Pleasures of a devotional Retirement, [part hi. 

transgression. Since that event, the case has been 
widely different. Man is become a sinner; and, 
before any other acceptable homage can be ren- 
dered, he must repent, and embrace those overtures 
of mercy which are made to him on the part of his 
offended Creator. When this is done, when, peni- 
tent and reconciled, he offers up his worship be- 
fore the majesty of heaven, the least sacrifice of 
humble praise, presented through a mediator, will 
not fail to meet with a gracious acceptance. jB : 

When, in surveying the works of nature, a man 
feels himself inspired with those emotions which 
may be ranked under the head of philosophic de- 
votion, it is because he considers the Creator 
chiefly in the relation of a natural governor ; other- 
wise, had he a proper sense of the righteousness 
and purity of his nioral administration, iiaiurc 
would be to him more a subject of terror than oT 
grateful adoration ; as it would then present to his 
view a wisdom which marked all his disorders, a 
goodness which he continued to abuse, and a pow- 
er which he persisted to provoke, and which he 
was perfectly unable to resist. "Wkl 

Hence may appear the insufliciency of that de- 
votion which is offered up on the altar of nature, 
without penitence and reconcilement. 



SECT. Ill,] Pleasures of adevotionalRetirement. 19? 

It is this devotion which often finds its way into 
the retreat of a philosopher, while he is more cu- 
rious to contemplate the heavens and the earth, and 
to investigate the laws of matter and motion, than 
to acquaint himself with God and his own moral 
situation. 

Natural worship, rightly understood, is an ele- 
vated and holy service ; it is the worship of angels ; 
and, as we have already intimated, was so of man 
in his state of original perfection, when, as the 
priest of nature, he was ordained to.ofFer up praises 
in behalf of all subordinate beings. But from 
this exalted office he fell by transgression; and, be- 
fore he can again be qualified to minister in this 
high relation to the Creator of the universe, he 
must learn to bow before him as a just God and a 
Saviour. 

This is a point which ought strongly to be enfor- 
ced, in order to counteract the influence of that 
philosophy which would establish religion without 
Christianity, and bring men to the worship and ser- 
vice of the Creator without the pardoning and me- 
dicinal grace of the Redeemer: for notwithstand- 
ing the absolute impracticability of such a project, 
it holds so much correspondence with our natural 
pride, that no precaution can be too great against 
such a flattering imposture. 



198 Pleasures of a devotional Retirement, [part iii. 

The second caution, which respects a mystic de- 
votion, is peculiarly needful to those whose turn of 
mind is serious, tender, and susceptible, and whose 
imagination prevails over their judgment. When 
such persons withdraw themselves from the world, 
and especially when they carry their abstraction be- 
yond a social retreat to a hermitage or a desert, 
there is danger lest, for want of objects to interest 
the natural affections, to limit the excursions of fan- 
cy, and mark but a determinate course of action, 
which may afford a solid and regular exercise of 
piety, they should be led to wander in a region of 
chimeras, and be betrayed into an imaginary inter- 
course with heaven at the expense of their duty 
upon earth. Nor is there any man of such strength 
of understanding, or of such confirmed piety, who 
has not cause, in similar circumstances, to guard 
against the same illusion. 

The devotion which is here intended is neither 
philosophical nor mystical; it is neither that of an 
angel, nor of man as he stood in his original inno- 
cence ; nor is it the mere ebullition of fancy heated 
with its own visions ; it is the devotion of man in 
his present fallen and sinful state, after he is brought 
to a proper acquaintance with God and with him- 
self. 

Two of the main ingredients which enter into its 
composition, are humility and love; and they are 



I 



SECT. III.] Pleasitresofa devotional Retirement. 199 

equally ingredients of true happiness. The humi- 
lity of a Christian does not proceed, as some are 
ready to imagine, from a disparaging view of his 
own character, or a superstitious dread of the Deity, 
but from a just sense of his own meanness and de- 
pravity, compared with the majesty and purity of 
the divine nature. It is a disposition founded in 
truth ; and when accompanied, as it ought to be, 
with hopes of mercy through a mediator, diffuses 
in the soul a satisfaction, which can never be de- 
rived from a principle of pharisaic righteousness. 
Even in relation to this life, a due perception and 
acknowledgment of our demerits, with a generous 
dependence on the equitable allowance of our fel- 
low-creatures, yields a far superior joy to any which 
can arise from a complacency in our own imaginary 
worth. 

The connexion of happiness with the love of 
God is still more obvious. Every one is sensible of 
the delight which springs from the love of a de- 
serving and amiable earthly friend, especially when 
the regard is reciprocal. What then must be his 
enjoyment, who loves and is beloved by that Being 
before whom all created excellency fades away, and 
all created good is poor and diminutive ; who looks 
up with gratitude to the common parent, and who 
feels himself the object of his tender affection! In 
such favoured circumstances, the cup of human 
bliss must run over* 



200 Pleasures of ade'i>otionalRetiremenU [partiii. 

Further, the relation which devotion bears to 
true happiness will appear, if we consider it as ex- 
pressing itself in acts of prayer and praise. By- 
prayer, when it is genuine, an intercourse is carried 
on between heaven and earth; the soul addresses 
herself to God, and is answered in returns of bles- 
sing, either in the grant of her particular requests, 
or in some other way more suitable to her necessi- 
ties; and, at peculiar seasons, in the very act of 
supplication, may be indulged with such a sense of 
the divine presence, as far exceeds every delight of 
a worldly nature ; which ought not to appear incre- 
dible to any one who considers with how much joy 
the bosom of a humble petitioner is inspired, when 
admitted to an exalted human presence, and his re- 
quest is listened to with condescension and favour. 

And if joy may thus spring from the supplicato- 
ry part of devotion, the pious mind may expect to 
derive it still more largely from the part which is 
laudatory. If it is pleasing to entreat blessings of the 
Almighty, under that encouraging expectation of 
success which is afforded us, it must be still more 
pleasing to return him our praises when our re- 
quests are granted, and from personal favours to 
rise to a general celebration of the divine works and 
attributes, to mount upwards to angelic adoration, 
and to unite with the hosts above in ascriptions of 
glory to the greatest and best of beings. Thus, by a 
spirit of praise, may good men, here on earth, an- 
ticipate the blessedness of heaven. 



SECT. III.] Pleasures of a devotional Retirement. 201 

I am aware, that what is now advanced must to 
many appear overstrained and fanciful. It must ap- 
pear so to those who study nature without a regard 
to its Author; to those who mistake humanity for 
piety; and, lastly, to those who place their religion 
merely in opinions, whether true or false, or in any 
acts of external worship. To all such there is ground 
to apprehend, that after the best description which 
can be given, the pleasures of true devotion will re- 
main almost as unknown as the- delight of harmony 
is to the deaf, or the beauty of a fine landscape when 
the faculty of vision is wanting; whilst, to the pi- 
ous Christian, they are pkasures which are perfect- 
ly intelligible ; as he knows them in some degree, 
from his experience, and has found them as much 
raised above all others as the heavens are exalted 
above the earth.* 

That men who have tasted this superior happiness 
should be induced, in order to enjoy it in a fuller 
measure, to v.^ithdraw themselves from the world, is 
a consequence which might naturally be expected; 
nor is it impossible that many of the first Christian 
monasteries owe their establishment to this princi- 
ple. Had their design been somewhat less seraphi- 
cal, (if I may be allowed the expression,) and more 

* ** Nor oug^ht it/ ' says the sage Plutarch, ** to be thought 
strange that God sliould condescend to dwell with the virtuous, 
and entertain a spiritual converse with holy and devout souls." 
Life of Numa. 



202 Pleasures of a devotional RetiremenU [part Hi. 

accommodated to the present state of human nature, 
their success might have been greater: for as man 
is a complex being, formed for action as well as for 
contemplation, he must be provided for in both ca- 
pacities, in order to reap fully the fruit of either. He 
cannot continue long in a state of mental abstraction : 
after a few ineffectual struggles to raise himself 
above the condition of mortality, he is compelled to 
fall back into this material system; and, unless he 
be furnished with an allowable course of action, he 
is likely to betake himself to some other that is vi- 
cious or fantastical. And perhaps we may here dis- 
cover one of the principal causes which have pro- 
duced, in monastic societies, those endless ceremo- 
nies and superstitious practices by which the body- 
is chiefly engaged, and sometimes called to undergo 
a very rigorous discipline ; for such is the nature of 
man, that he had much rather be occupied In the 
silliest trifles, or even suffer a degree of voluntary 
pain, which may give him a feeling of his existence| 
than sink down into a total vacuity. 



This remark seems to have been exemplified in 
many of the severer orders of the Romish church. 
Unable to maintain that extravagant pitch of devo- 
tion prescribed by their original founders, they de- 
scended, and sometimes precipitately, from their 
unnatural elevation, and, to save themselves from 
a state of entire spiritual destitution, took refuge in 
forms and ceremonies, and even in the rigours of a 



SECTaii.] Pleasures of a devotional RetiremeiiU 203 

cruel superstition. When they assembled for social 
worship, the spirit of it was lost in mere noise and 
parade, in animal vociferations and pompous pro- 
cessions; while the monk in his cell, instead of im- 
proving his solitude by holy meditation and inward 
self-denial, endeavoured to heighten his spiritual 
fervours, or to rouse himself from his slumbers, by 
telling over his beads, or by the severity of corpo- 
ral discipline. 

As justice, however, is due to all mankind, it 
ought to be acknowledged, that some monastic so- 
cieties have been founded upon principles more hu- 
mane, and more agreeable to the genius of Chris- 
tianity, which imposes no tasks upon her disciples 
but such as, upon the whole, are conducive to their 
present as well as future happiness. In this class we 
may place the religious establishment at Pcr^i?c?2/t2/, 
where a number of illustrious recluses, by their 
piety and literary labours, edified and illuminated 
all France, and at the same time held out an exam- 
ple of active industry by cultivating their grounds 
with their own hands. A community thus consti- 
tuted and established, could not fail to enjoy that 
peaceful satisfaction which is sure to rest on the 
abodes of useful learning and practical piety. 

Devotion, study, and corporal labour, are all ne- 
cessary, in their due order, to a state of true enjoy- 
ment. Without devotion, the mind loses her pro- 



204 Pleasures of a devotional Retirement, [part hi. 

per dominion, and becomes a miserable slave to 
those inferior powers which it is her duty to hold 
in subjection; without study, devotion is apt to de- 
generate into fanaticism; and without moderate 
bodily exercise, the earthly tabernacle weighs down 
the mind that would muse 07i heavenly- things.^ 
Hence, a strict regard to each of these should be 
had in every regular institution of piety, and espe- 
cially in every monastic establishment; the good 
monk should be kept as closely to his studies, and 
his agricultural or other labours, at their pro- 
perseasons, as to his canonical hours ; otherwise 
he will be in danger of growing melancholy or su- 
perstitious. Upon such principles our two universi- 
ties appear to have been founded; religion and 
learning had their appropriate hours, and academic 
groves were provided for the purpose of needful 
exercise. How far they are kept up to the rule and 
spirit of their first institution, those who reside upon 
the spot are best able to determine. 

Of all the modes of life which have been adopt- 
ed in pursuit of happiness, that of an absolute her- 
mit seems the most extraordinary. To those who 
are knit together in any kind of community, who 
are within call one of another, and in case of dis- 
tress can depend on mutual succour, there may be 
some prospect of a comfortable existence. But for 
a being such as man, beset with innumerable wants, 

Wisdom, ix. 15. 



. ECT. iiu]Fleasures of a devotional Retirement. 205 

and exposed to innumerable disasters, to withdraw 
into a desert, and deprive himself of all assistance 
from his fellow-creatures, appears to be almost the 
same thing with a banishment to hopeless misery. 
The event, however, to a truly devout hermit, 
might be very different. We are not to suppose him 
always moping in his cell, or rapt in visions and exta- 
sies: his daily subsistence would require much of his 
time; another portion might be usefully and agree- 
ably employed in the perusal of a few learned and 
ingenious authors; (for we need not imagine him 
either illiterate or unprovided with books;) and 
when his hours of devotion were added, but fev/ 
would remain to fill up the longest day. And though 
it is not probable he would immediately discover 
all his advantages, as the eye upon a sudden transi- 
tion from the open sun-shine into the deep shade of 
a forest, cannot at once perceive distinctly the ob- 
jects before it, yet, as he grew acQUstomed to his 
situation, and gradually acquired a proper know- 
ledge of his resources, he might find the -wilderness 
to become a fruitful Ji eld ^ and streams to fow in the 
desert. 

r 

There re few situations among those that come 
under the description of a devotional retirement, 
which seem, on the whole, to be more eligible than 
that of a pious clergyman, called to minister to a 
plain and" serious peaple, in some sequestered part 

T 



206 Pleasures of a devoiionalRetiremenU [part ill* 

of the country; and whose time is divided between 
his closet, his church, and his parochial visits. 
This succession of duties must render each of 
them the more pleasing and useful; the devotions 
of the closet will be a happy preparation for public 
worship ; which, in its turn will make way for more 
personal counsels and admonitions in his private 
interviews; and these will supply him with fresh 
matter for his own prayers and meditations, and 
direct him in his addresses from the pulpit. Such a 
course of piety, private and public, umongst a peo- 
ple separated from the bustle and fashions of the 
world, and seriously disposed to receive instruc- 
tion, as it could not fail to produce the happiest ef- 
fects, must to a good man who is so engaged, be a 
source of unspeakable satisfaction. If it be pleas- 
ing to the farmer, for his grounds continually to 
improve under his care, while some are taken from 
the waste, and converted into good arable and pas- 
ture, and the rest ameliorated and made more pro- 
ductive; it must be still more pleasing to the moral 
cultivator, to see the fruit of his labours in the con- 
version of sinners, and the edification of the righ- 
teous ; to see the human field whiten to the harvest; 
while he himself fully partakes in the general pro- 
gress. And, lastly, if to this concordance of private 
devotion with external duties and their happy 
fruits, there is added the comfort of domestic life, 
littk is wanting to fill up that measure of human 



SECT. iu.]Pleasuresofa devotional Retirement. 207 
* felicity so elegantly described by the author of The 



Seasons : 



Oh, speak the joy, ye whom the sudden tear 
Surprises often, while ye look around, 
And nothing meets your eye but sights of bliss ' 
A moderate sufficiency, content. 
Retirement, rural quiet, friendship, books, 
Ease and alternate labour, useful life, 
Progresshe lirfue, and approving heaven/ 



RURAL PHILOSOPHY. 



PART IV. 

In -which a common objection agaimt a Life of Retirefnenc 
narnely .hat it destroy, or diminishes ui^L^^^ 
cularly considered. 



SECTION I. 

Containing some Remarks on the Utility arising from 
Public Station. 

i HAT to withdraw from the world is the way to 
become less serviceable, if not absolutely useless, is a 

notion wllir-V. r^r,,,*,* ^ „„ , ' 



notion which carries so much appearance of truth 
that we ought not to wonder, if men who venture' 
upon such a step, usually incur the censure of those 
who still maintain their post in society. To moderate 
this censure, which I apprehend is often too severe 
I would submit to the consideration of these more' 
active citizens, a i^^y remarks on the utility of their 
own occupations; and should this appear to be, in 
many cases, very equivocal, and, in general, to be 
n^uchless than they have imagined, such a discoverv 



I 



SECT. I.] On the Utility of Public Station. 20^ 

may help to increase their candour towards those who 
prefer more retired situations. 

Utility has respect to an end, and implies means 
adapted to its attainment. The end may be good or 
evil. In the latter case, the term useful is predicated 
of the means with less propriety, as they can only 
merit this character, when, besides their lawfulness 
in themselves, they are directed to a good purpose. 

The chief and ultimate end of man, is to please 
God; and to please him, we must conform to his 
will; and his will is that we should be holy and hap- 
py. Virtue then, (according to the extensive meaning 
in which we take the word,) and virtuous happiness, 
are the great ends to which we should direct our en- 
deavours; and every mean which may contribute to 
their accomplishment is properly ranked under the 
head of utility, provided it be allowable in its own 
nature: for it requires as much to be considered that 
no goodness of the end can sanctify any wrong means 
which are made use of to promote it^ as that no end 
can be good which is not favourable to the cause of 
virtue and happiness. 

Having premised these principles, let us now en- 
deavour to apply them in the case before us. 

It is evidently a great part of the business of the 
world, to provide food and clothing for the body; 

T 2 



i-fe. 



210 On the Utility of Public Station, [p^art i \% 

and, so far as this provision is needful, to supply the 
necessities and modest conveniencies of nature, and 
to mark that subordination which must subsist in 
everj^ well regulated community, neither reason nor 
religion reclaim against it. Such, however, is the 
present corrupt state of mankind, that it is difficult to 
provide for their wants, and not to feed their luxuries ; 
or to furnish them with the proper distinctions of the 
place which they hold in society, and not to minister 
at the same time to their vanity. And though the 
honest tradesman is not answerable for such abuses, 
he has reason to lament them as a blot and dispa- 
ragement to his calling* 

The like apology cannot be made for those whose ~ 
business it is, at least in part, studiously to hold out . 
temptations to such abuses, and to minister directly 
to pride and luxury. So far as any occupation is em- 
ployed to gratify the appetites at the expense of health 
or innocence, or to adorn the body to the prejudice 
of feminine modesty, ox of manly grace and dignity, 
it certainly cannot be numbered amongst those useful 
arts which are necessary to preserve the due grada- 
tions of society, or v/hich are warranted by a modest 
regard to personal comfort or convenience. To enu- 
merate the employments which fall under the de- 
scription here given, would be equally invidious and 
unnecessary. 

The same mixed character inhuman affairs, which 
often makes it doubtfu.1 v/hether the good or the evil 



SECT. I.] On the Vtility of Public StatioJi. 211 

predominates, is also discernible in occupations which 
relate more immediately to the intellectual part of 
our nature. As a specimen, let us take the business 
of a bookseller. It is far from my purpose to depre- 
ciate a calling which, on the whole, I believe has been 
of great use to the world ; though, in the present state 
of literature, to conduct it with such circumspection as 
that the balance shall turn in favour of truth and vir- 
tue, is evidently a matter of no small difficulty. Among 
the numerous volumes which are now in ordinary 
circulation, there is a large proportion which deserves 
to be branded with infamy, many of them powerfully 
tending to promote lewdness, dissipation, and public 
disorder, and many others no less subservient to the 
cause of infidelity and profaneness. The shelves of 
our libraries groan under loads of error and impiety, 
the incentives of vice, and the pleas of anarchy. When 
such is the demand for works, whose direct object is 
to sap the principles, and vitiate the manners, of the 
present age, and of posterity, it obviously requires no 
common degree of virtue and vigilance in a booksel- 
ler to preserve himself from being an instrument of 
public mischief. And the difficulty is still greater, 
when the evil (which frequently happens) is more 
covertly conveyed ; when an artful writer, otherwise, 
perhaps, of undoubted merit, through the vehicle of 
history or fiction, or some pretended metaphysical 
disquisition, insinuates the same false and dangerous 
principles, which, for want of sufficient leisure or sa- 
gacity, may easily escape a man of business.^ And 
even among those writings which we ought to con- 



212 On the Utility of Public Station, [part ivw 

sider as honestly dedicated to the present and future 
welfare of mankind, such often are either their inhe- 
rent defects, or their want of due reception, that few 
of them appear to answer, in any considerable degree, 
the end for which they were laudably intended. When 
all this is fairly taken into the account, the most re- 
spectable bibliopolist will find little reason to boast 
himself on the score of utility. 

So far concerning the less dignified occupations 
of society. Of the learned professions of law and phy- 
sic, I wish to speak in terms of the highest respect, 
on account of the relation they bear to two of the 
greatest blessings we can enjoy, peace and health. A 
lawyer, who, instead of encouraging a spirit of liti- 
gation, endeavours to prevent it, who will undertake 
no cause but upon probable grounds of equity, and, 
when undertaken, will exert all his diligence, with the 
least possible expense or trouble to his client, to 
bring it to a fair conclusion ; — such a lawy^^r (and 
many such I trust there are) sustains a part in society, 
in a high degree both useful and honourable. Again, 
the physician, whose sentiments of humanity and 
justice carry him above every mercenary considera- 
tion, who is anxious not to trifle with his patient, not 
to detain him under the dubious trials of art, when 
he should remit him to the more sure guidance of 
nature, nor to flatter him with hopes of recovery at 
the risque of his most important interest, possesses 
an equal title to the gratitude and respect of his fel- 
low-citizens. Men such as these may, with a good 



SECT, I.] On the Utility of Public Station. 213 

grace, call the votary of solitude to account, and de- 
mand of what use he is to the world. On the other 
hand, should their conduct be dictated by the temp- 
tations instead of the duties of their profession, they 
are too deeply responsible themselves, to exercise an 
authority of this nature over the most indolent recluse. 

There are other descriptions of men, who, without 
any particular profession, act a considerable part in 
society. Among these may be ranked the founders of 
families, the promoters of charitable and other prac- 
tical institutions, and, lastly, the patrons of learning 
and genius. Upon the utility of these several classes, 
I would offer a few brief remarks. 

I. The founders of families. We see men who, 
after they have raised themselves by their own genius 
and industry to a state of opulence, transplant them- 
selves from the city into some more elegant situation 
at the west end of the town, where, still in the midst 
of noise and competition, and in preference to a quiet 
and unambitious country life, they set themselves to 
cultivate an acquaintance with people of rank or fash- 
ion, till, by dint of interest or money, or by a courtly 
servility, their ultimate wishes are at length accom- 
plished; their sons are provided with distinguished 
situations at court, in the church, or in the army, and 
their daughters with rich or noble alliances; while a 
fair inheritance, and perhaps a title, remains in re- 
serve for the heir of the house. Such favourites of 
fortune will find many tongues loud in their praise^ 



214 On the Utility of Public Station. [. akt i v. 

and many ambitious fathers will be sure to hold them 
Tutt^uJir children as patterns for their d.hgent urn- 



tation. 



To determine how far this P'^-^^V'.T W 
must recur to the principles already latd down and 
Tns derTwhether t'o advance a family so much above 
.state o mediocrity,is a probable method to promote 
a scaic ui liivvA ji ^ Tj^vp no discussion 

either its virtue or h^PPmess. Here no ci.sc 

can be necessary. Every man who is at aU acquaint- 
ed withhimself and withthe world, must be sen .W , 
hat the natural tendency of wealth and secular d- 
tinction is to generate pride and luxury and conse 
nuently to destroy true enjoyment, which can only 
S-sfupon the principles of universal ^odera^^^^^^^ 
and as these principles have been se dom found 
olLh in extreme situations, hence, m eve^ ag , 
wisdom has sought a middle condition - ^he ^ ^^^^^^ 
ite seat of vimiou. c«joyment, and the most secure 
station for kuman weakness. 

What is most surprising in tlie case before us is, 
that we find men who are accounted religious, and, 
t:t:errespects,apparentlydeservingthataiara.e, 

who pursue the same ambitious course, and undex 
The same false pretexts; who, because it is then 
duty Tprovide for their children, will push the. 
fortunes by every means in their power, wil 

peaUn thlir presence of riches, and honours and 
Lses, and equipage, in a way the -st ;-ed - 

Mame their susceptible imaginations ; will send them, 



SECT. I. j On the Utility of Public Station. 215 

at the risque of their morals, and perhaps at no con- 
venient expense, to some great school, where they 
will be most likely to form those early connexions, 
which may afterwards enable them to climb unto 
some dignity in the church, or conspicuous office in 
the state; while their daughters are trained in those 
arts, which, however they may add attractions to the 
person, are generally unfriendly to that virtuous pru- 
dence, and those domestic accomplishments, which 
are the true and lasting ornaments of the feminine 
character. For a man of the world to act in this man- 
ner is naturally to be expected; but for those to copy 
the example, who profess themselves to be the disciples 
and subjects of a master tvhose doctrine and kingdom 
are not of this worlds is one of those unhappy contra- 
rieties which are too often to be lamented in human 
conduct. 

II. The founders or promoters of charitable or other 
practical institutions, — Men of this character deserve 
to be placed high in the scale of utility, and would be 
disgraced by a comparison with those of the former 
description. To raise a family to a state of opulence 
and distinction, is, as we have seen, a probable 
way to render it more vicious, without any real ad- 
vantage to its enjoyments; and were the effect in 
both these respects the most favourable, it would be 
confined within narrow limits. Whereas to erect a 
hospital, or to form any other public establishment, 
on the principles of humanity and sound policy; or 
by an active inspection, as well as by pecuniary con- 



216 On the Utility of Public Station, [part iv. 

tributions, to promote the end of such institutions, is 
to confer a probable benefit on society at large. Per- 
sons employed in such services, whether it be to pro- 
vide relief for the diseased, to liberate the poor un- 
fortunate debtor, to form vagrant and destitute chil- 
dren into useful members of the community, to 
improve the state of our prisons, or in any other way 
to mitigate the distresses and ameliorate the condition 
of human life, undoubtly deserve to be placed in the 
first rank of public benefactors. And whenever such 
men, by the ingratitude with which their labours are 
received, or by any other discouragement, are driven 
from their station in society, their retreat is to be re- 
gretted as a public detriment. 

III. The patrons of genius and learning. To en» 
courage and direct the studies of ingenious youth ; to 
search out, and bring into public view, men who are 
qualified to instruct the v/orld, and whose superior 
knowledge lies obscured by want, or concealed by 
modesty; or to procure the publication and aid the 
spread of productions which are suited to improve 
the understandings and morals of mankind; are 
works which must do honour to any rank or fortune, 
and entitle their author to a place in the first class of 
good citizens. A patron thus highly distinguished, 
ought never to be confounded with any finical ambi- 
tious pretender, who, if now and then he makes a 
pecuniary compliment to a poor author for his de- 
dication, or helps him upon the stage to divert the 
audience with something he calls a play; or promotes 



zcT. I.] On the Utility of Public Station. 217 

some splendid edition of a heathen classic, or opens 
his house once a week for literary tattle, is ready, on 
the strength of such services, to applaud himself, and 
to challenge the applause of others, as a very Mecse- 
nas. Let us hope, however, that among his other 
claims to public favour, he will not plead his merits 
as a useful citizen. 

The last character I shall consider under the head 
of public utility is of a higher order, its influence is 
far more extensive and commanding, and, according 
as it is well or ill directed, is productive of the great- 
est benefit or injury to society; I mean the character 
oi a statesman, 

A man placed at the head of public affairs, who 
estimates national prosperity by the diffusion of vir- 
tuous happiness, and, agreeably to this maxim, em- 
ploys every lawful measure to prevent idleness, to en- 
courage industry, to restrain licentiousness, and to 
protect and cherish true liberty, is undoubtedly to be 
ranked among the greatest of human benefactors, has 
a just claim to the warmest gratitude of his fellow- 
citizens, and to the general esteem of mankind. To 
such a patriot minister the pious recluse will look up 
as to a tutelary angel, and attend him with emotions 
of veneration in all his endeavours to promote the 
virtue and ameliorate the state of his country. 

The statesman who proceeds upon lower principles, 
and who looks no farther than to the outward splen- 

U 

1 



218 On the Utility of Public Station, [part iv. 

dour of affairs, is entitled to no such reverence* 
Though he may pompously harangue in the senate, 
and may be ardent in his schemes to advance the 
wealth, and power, and renown, of his country, his 
soul is vulgar, and wants true moral elevation; he 
ivants a just sense wherein the real prosperity and 
glory of a state consits, and of what is necessary to 
secure its permanence and stability. Every age has 
experienced, what every age is disposed to forget, 
and the statesman no less than any other individual, 
that national wealth and power, without the strong 
corrective of virtue, can only produce a transient 
glory, and are sure to terminate in national shame 
and ruin. 



Still, it should always be considered, in order to 
strengthen the regard we owe to our rulers, that such 
is the dignity of public virtue, as to render every ap-^ 
pearance of it respectable; and therefore, that a de- 
gree of honour is due to the statesman, who, in a can- 
If' did construction, may be supposed to act, though upon 

false or defective principles, with a view to the gene- 
ral good. But when, fron> a well-meaning patriot, he 
degenerates into the mercenary head of a party, and 
it becomes evidently the great object of his ministry 
to decorate himself and Tiis friends with the spoils of 
the commonwealth, his name and memory then de- 
serve to be loaded with infamy. Far better had it been 
for such a man to have dwelt in a wilderness, or to 
have consumed his days amidst the gloom of a clois- 
ter with beads and relics, than to have stood forth on 



SECT, I.] 0^ the Utilitij of Public Station. 21^ 

ihe public stage, basely to sacrifice the welfare of his 
country to the idol of private interest or ambitiorl. 

All this may serve to show, that to contribute reallv 
to the public benefit is no ordinary felicity. To add 
indeed to the general misery is easy to any man, down 
from a minister of state to the meanest peasant; so 
susceptible is human life of evil, that, sown by .what- 
ever hand, it naturally takes root, and spreads itself 
without limit. On the contrary, to do good is diffi- 
cult: and, without w^isdom to direct as well as bene- 
volence to intend, the effect will commonly be incon- 
siderable; wealth may lavish her benefactions vrith 
little relief of virtuous indigence, and power may 
widely extend her patronage v/hile modest merit lies 
neglected; and all the political resources of a people 
may be called forth without any material accession to 
human happiness. Even after the utmost exertions of 
wisdom and virtue in conjunction, their end is seldom 
or never perfectly attained, and oftentimes is entirely 
defeated, through the perverseness and obstinacy of 
those who set themselves in opposition to their own 
interest. And though the little success of his attempts 
to be of service, ought not to sink a good citizen in 
discouragement, or tempt him to desert his station, 
but rather should incite his more strenuous endea- 
vours ; it ought, however, to repress any vain opinion 
of his own usefulness, and dispose him to regard with 
more allowance those whose life is devoted to retire- 
ment; or \vho, after 51 number of years spent in the 



220 On the Utility of Puhlic Station, [part 1v«. 

bustle of the world, withdraw from it under a con- 
viction, that the good which they do is small and un- 
certain, and that the evil which they suffer is great 
and unavoidable. Besides, it by no means always fol- 
lows, as a necessary consequence, that a man is ren^ 
dered useless, or even less useful, by an abstraction 
from public life, as perhaps may appear from the re- 
marks we have next to offer. 



[ 221 1 



SECTION II. 



A retired Life considered in resjiect to Utility '. 

The cynic Diogenes, we are told, as he was one 
day rolling his tub in the market-place of Athens, 
being questioned concerning this singularity, made 
answer, that, as he saw all the world busy around 
him, he had no mind to remain unemployed- This 
conduct and reply of the sagacious misanthrope, con- 
veyed a fine reproof of the greater part of that bus- 
tle and agitation which goes under the name of busi- 
ness, as it implied, that in point of real use, it was 
nearly upon an equality with the rolling of his tub. 

It is sad to consider how seldom we look through 
the form and circumstance of affairs into their real 
importance, and how much we are led to rate them 
by the stir and noise with which they are attended- 
When we see multitudes of people in unremitting 
exertion, many in a perpetual hurry, as if their pre- 
sence was necessary in a hundred places at once, we 
naturally suppose some grave matters are m agitation, 
and that the actors are persons of no small conse- 
quence; while those who go quietly about their bu- 
siness, or withdraw altogether from public observation, 
to act their proper part in retirement, we as naturally 
imagine lobe of little or no use. To correct Ais vul- 



222 On the Utility of retired Life, [part i v. 

gar misapprehension, it might be^ sufficient to reflec't, 
that the most perfect and beneficial agency is exerted 
without precipitation or tumult, that all the planetary 
revolutions are performed in majestic order and si- 
lence, and with less impression upon the senses than 
the motions of a water-mill. 

Let us then dismiss this popular prejudice, and 
proceed to point out by what methods a retired life 
may be made a useful one. And here we must recur 
to some of those instances of occupation, which have 
before been considered in reference to the individual 
pleasure or improvement of the retired man himself. 

I. The first instance I shall specify is that of~ 

agriculture. The employment of a farmer, as it has 

been observed by many writers, is evidently the 

nexus or middle link between the savage and civi- 

lized state of mankind, who, if we except a few 

scattered tribes that derive their subsistence from 

the sea,' or from the produce of their flocks, must be 

content to roam in the desert in quest of food, j 

unless they find a more regular provision in the' 

labours of husbandry. It is therefore on these labours 

that we essentially depend, if not for the bare sup- 

port of life, at least for whatever can render life 

comfortable; for all those numerous and useful arts, 

those literary and benevolent institutions, which owe' 

their birth to civil society, and which tend to its 

farther improvement. Hence the country gentleman 

who resides constantly upon his estate, and endeavours 



SECT. II.] On the Utility of retired Life. 223 

by an attention to the best methods of culture to raise 
the greatest possible supply for human sustenance, 
is worthy to be honoured as a public benefactor. 
While he pastures his flocks and his herds, or 
ploughs his glebe, he not only affords employment to 
the peasant, but promotes manufactures, encourages 
learning, diffuses civility and humanity, and, in 
general, strengthens the foundations of social life. 
Compare him with those of his rank who exchange 
the healthy abodes of their fathers, with every manly 
occupation, for the smoke of cities, and the haunts 
of gambling, dissipation, and lewdness; who prefer 
the mimicries of art to all the original beauties of 
nature, and had rather cultivate the barren smiles of 
a courtier than their hereditary acres; compare him, 
I say, with such men, and his merits will appear 
still more conspicuous, and deserving of public gra- 
titude. 

II. The next instance I shall notice respects the 
cultivation of a neighbourly disposition and conduct. 
Plutarch tells us, in his life of Themistocles, that 
this noble Greek, having a farm to dispose of, adver- 
tised it with this recommending circumstance, that 
it was provided with a good neighbour. This ad- 
vantage, which it seems was at that time of no 
small account, has not since diminished in its value; 
and it is an advantage which the retired man may 
afford in each of these two ways; first, by his know- 
ledge and humanity ; and, secondly, by his piety. 



224 On the Utility of retired Life, [part iv* 

A retired man, with that general knowledge 
which so much becomes every person of leisure and 
fortune, and with that practical benevolence which 
becomes him still more, may be of various service 
in his vicinity. By an acquaintance with agricultural 
improvements he may suggest useful hints how to 
manage a farm to the best advantage, to a less- 
informed and industrious neighbour; or, by a degree 
of medical skill, may contribute to his health. He 
may prevent disputes and litigation, or by his ami- 
cable interference and legal knowledge help to bring 
them to the speediest issue; and in many other 
ways, too obvious to be here enumerated, by a 
proper application of his fortune and influence, he 
may add much to the peace and comfort of those 
around him. 

If he be a man of piety, his usefulness may be 
more extended. Good sense and humanity can only 
act within a temporal sphere; they may prudently 
advise, and reach out a helping hand amidst many 
of the difficulties of life, and by a friendly sympathy 
soften many of its ordinary evils; but there are 
graver exigencies, when nothing short of the coun- 
sels and aids of Christianity can minister any real 
and permanent relief. And in the present sinful and 
calamitous state of the world,^ there are probably 
few situations w^ithin whose circuit, however narrow 
or sequestered, such an exigency may not be found; 
wherein there is not some mind so overwhelmed 
with misfortune^ so excruciated with guilt, or pining 



SECT. II.] On the Utility of retired Life. 225 

in despondence, as to render all human consolation 
vain, and all human redress utterly incompetent. 
Under such grievances to afford any effectual suc- 
xour by an application of higher remedies, v/ere it 
only in a single instance, would be enough to exempt 
the retirement of a good man from the charge ot in- 
utility. 

III. A retired man of letters, if he has a son, 
may find much useful employment in the care of 
his education. He may himself assume the office 
of domestic tutor, and thus avoid the necessity of 
committing him into the hands of persons who have 
no natural interest in his welfare, or of exposing 
him to the contagion of those vices which are almost 
inseparable from great schools. Besides, by this 
domestic tuition, a considerable portion of that 
time, which, according to the routine of what is 
called a classical education, is consumed in the 
barren study of words, the fictions of poets, or the 
vanities of heathen mythology, may be employed in 
the cultivation of his reason, and the acquirement 
of much solid learning. Instead of a smattering in 
a dead language, of which he may never find any 
use, and which, to increase the difficulty of attain- 
ment, is absurdly -made introductory to itself; in- 
stead of a memory charged with stories of idoal 
metamorphoses, and obscene adventures of gods 
and goddesses ; a boy of common capacity may 
early be initiated in the rudiments of real science, 
may be made acquainted with many of the less ob* 



226 On the Utility of retired Life, [part iv. 

vious changes and operations of nature, with many^ 
surprising properties of light and lire, of air and 
water, w^ith the elements of astronomy, of geo- 
graphy, of general history, and of various other 
parts of knowledge at once both useful and orna- 
mental. And, what is more important (as was ob- 
served in a former section) than a proficiency in 
particular branches of learning, his faculties may 
be prepared for any acquisitions which he may find 
necessary in his progress through the world, and 
his understanding formed to pronounce justly upon 
their value. Above all, the anxious affection of a 
parent, if he be at all qualified to sustain that cha- 
racter, will naturally induce him to practise every 
method which may inspire his son with the love 
of truth and virtue, and consequently with a dis- 
taste of all such tales and fictions, however set off 
and embellished by the power of genius, which 
may violate the integrity of the one, or the purity 
of the other. 

Farther: a learned and ingenious recluse may 
sometimes aid the progress of general knowledge 
and improvement. If he is a mathematician, 
though he may not be able to extend the limits of 
a science which seems already to have been car- 
ried beyond the bounds of utility, he may help to 
render some of its practical branches more attrac- 
tive and accessible. If he is a botanist he may pick 
up some unknown and salutary plant in his rural 



SECT. II.] On the Utility of retired Life. 227 

excursions ; or, if he has a turn for chymistry.,.lie 
may light upon some discovery which will be of 
use in agriculture or medicine, in arts or manu- 
factures; and in other departments of science, or 
natural history, he may contribute something by 
his researches to the general benefit. As a moral- 
ist he may contribute still more : from the elevat- 
ed ground of serene contemplation he may look 
down on mankind with an impartial eye, and take 
large surveys of their different pursuits; and, 
whilst they are busily engaged in the race of life, 
may admonish them of the laws which ought to 
regulate the course, and which, in the eagerness of 
competition, they are very liable to forget. He 
may help to place them at that ideal distance from 
themselves, and from the world, without which 
they are sure to form undue estimates of both, to 
magnify their own abilities and virtues, and the 
importance of the objects they have in view. This 
power of mental abstraction is a principal advan- 
tage to be sought in retirement; and to reflect this 
advantage back upon society, is to render it the 
most essential service. To do this is indeed not 
within the reach of every literary conteipplative, 
and is only to be expected from one, who, after he 
has seen much of the world, carefully v/eighs and 
digests his observations in solitude ; or who, by a 
narrow self-inspection, and a diligent perusal of 
general history, has acquired such a knowledge of 
himself, and of mankind, as will nearly answer the 
same end. 



^28 On the Utility of retired Life, [part i\% 

IV. Another office in which a retired man may 
be useful, is that of a minister of religion. Let not 
the reader be startled at this, as if I meant to con- 
found the clergy and laity, or to insinuate, that any 
one who can imagine himself sufficiently gifted for 
the purpose, is authorised to commence a public 
teacher. I mean no more, than that it becomes 
every man to be a priest in his own house. Of this 
our more pious fathers were properly sensible, and 
paid a strict attention to domestic worship,^which, 
as no one needs to be told, has in our days, like 
many other good practices, fallen into general dis- 
use. Whatever plea a man of business may have to 
offer in extenuation of this neglect, a retired man 
has none. Privileged as he is from taking a part in 
active life, he is bound by every consideration to 
the regular discharge of this great duty, to which 
the commerce of the world is less favourable, and 
which, if rightly performed, may be productive of 
the happiest fruits. By reading 2ind prayer he may 
form a church in his own house, to which, at pro* 
per seasons, h,e may associate the poor in his vicini* 
ty, who may perhaps want the disposition or ability, 
or both together, either to read their Bible, or to 
,pray for themselves. Especially, should he be placed 
in a situation where the public worship of God is 
Jess frequent than ordinary, or from distance less 
accessible, his endeavours, in the way now stated, 
to assist the devotions of his neighbours, would be 
the more highly laudable and expedient. Nor ought 



SECT, ii.j On the UtUitij of retired Life. 229 

it to be supposed that there is any clergyman who, 
in such circumstances, would complain of lay-in- 
trusion, or who would not cordially rejoice in such 
co-operation. 

V. Again : A retired man, if pious, may be use- 
ful to himself, and to his fellow-creatures in general, 
by his private prayers. There are many passages of 
scripture from which may be inferred the efficacy 
of individual intercession. I shall only point to a 
few. At the entreaty of Abraham, Sodom would 
have been spared, had ten righteous men been 
found in it.^ The whole nation of Israel was pre- 
served more than once from destruction upon the 
intercession of Mosesf. In the prophet Ezekiel we 
read: The people of the land have used oppression^ 
and exercised robbery^ and have vexed tlie poor and 
needy; yea^ they have oppressed the stranger wrong- 
fully. And^ I sought for a man among them that 
should make up the hedge, and stand in the gap before 
me for the land, that I should not destroy it: but I 
fhundnone. Tnerefore have I poured out mine indig- 
\nationupon them, I have consigned them xvith the fire 
of my wrath.X To which I sl'.all only add another 
^passage from the New Testament: Elias, it is said, 
\iims a man subject to like passions as we are, and he 
prayed earnestly that it might not rain; and it rained 



r Ezek. xxu. 29-, 31 



X 



230 On the Utility of retired Life, [part iv« 

7iot on the earth by the space of three years and six 
months* And he prayed again^ and the heaven gave 
rain^ and the earth brought forth her fruit .^ And 
though it must at once be acknowledged, that no 
one at present living can be compared with Abra- f 
ham, or Moses, or Elias, yet still it remains an un- 
alterable lYwxh^that the fervent prayer of a righteous \ 
man availeth much ;| much to his own, and much to j 
the advantage of those around him; and, in con- i 
junction with the prayers of other good men, may | 
so far avail, (whatever a narrow and vain philoso- 
phy may suggest to the contrary,) as even to pre- 
vent or mitigate public judgments, to turn the scale 
of victory, or to protract the date of a declining em- 
pire. 



VI. Lastly, a retired man may be useful to others 
by his exampltr. The world wants repose; and the 
exhibition of a virtuous and happy retirement has 
a tendency to quiet its agitation. It shows, that a 
simple mode of life is sufficient for every purpose 
of nature or rational enjoyment, and that there is 
no need to resort to the court or the city, to 
camps or senates, to \h eat res or fashionable assem- 
blies, either for occupation or amusement. Men 
take too much pains to be happy; they construct for 
this end operose and complex engines, which are 
difficult to frame, and more difficult to keep in or- 

* James, v. 17 9 18. f Jt^ii^-es, v. 16. 



SECT. II.] On the Utility of retired Life. 231 

der; they imagine that some great thing (if I may 
allude to an ancient story in scripture,*) is neces- 
sary for the accomplishment of their object, though 
there is need only to wash and he clean; nor is there 
any lesson which better deserves their study, than 
what is held ou^ to them in a life of unambitious 
and virtuous retreat. 

In one or more of these ways may a retired man 
be a public blessing; and though it is possible that, 
after all his endeavours, the amount of his service 
to others may be but little, (which indeed may be 
the case of any man in any situation,) he may still 
be of the highest service to himself. In his solitary 
walks and meditations he may acquire and strength- 
en a habit of pious recollection, and cultivate an 
acquaintance with God, and with his own nearest 
concerns. Thus, intent upon a better world, and 
Jutle anxious about the present (by which perhaps 
he is neglected or forgotten), he will grow every 
day more disposed to bid it heartily farewel, in the 
spirit of the following lines of Seneca, as we find 
them happily rendered by Andrew Marvel: 

Climb at court for me that will, 

Tott'ring favour's pinnacle. 

All I wish is to lie still. 

Settled in some secret nest. 

In calm quiet let me rest; 

And, far off the public stage, 

Pass away my silent age. 

Thus, when, without noise, unknown. 

* 2 Kingr, v. 13. 



On the Utility of retired Life, [part i v, 

I have liv'd out all my span, 
I shall die without a groan, 
A plain honest countryman. 
Who, expos'd to others' eyes. 
Into his own heart ne'er pries. 
Death's to him a strange surprise!* 

* Stet quicunque volet potens 
Aulae culmine lubrico. 
Me dulcis saturet quieso 
Obscuro positus loco, 
Leni perfruar otio. 
NuUis nota quiritibus, 
^tas per taciturn fluat. 
Sic cum transierint mei 
NuUo cum strepitu dies, 
Plebeius moriar senex. 
Illi mors gravis incubat 
Qiii notus nimis omnibus, 
Ignotus moritur sibi! 



[ 233 ] 

SECTION III. 

The Utility of Monasteries considered. 

A HAT extremes are productive of one another, 
is a position whose truth meets us in every view in 
which mankind can be considered, whether we re- 
gard them in their social or individual, their civil 
or religious capacities. 

To omit other obvious instances in illustration of 
the above maxim, I shall here confine myself to the 
case of monastic institutions. The genius of po- 
pery, it is well known, has led multitudes of its vo- 
taries, in former ages, to immure themselves in 
cells and convents, and so to withdraw themselves 
from the duties as well as comforts of social life. 
This secession appeared so criminal in the eyes of 
our first reformers, that it induced them to con- 
demn without reserve the whole monkish system, 
to exert every endeavour to destroy its credit, and 
throw open its cloisters, which ^hey considered at 
best as the retreats of indolence and superstition; 
and at the same time, to enforce the relations and 
duties of common life in a manner, which might 
seem to fix an unqualified censure on sequestered 
piety. 

X2 , 



234 On the Utility of Monasteries, [part i v. 

Man doubtless was formed for society ; in. Para- 
dise itself it was not good for him to be alone. He 
was not placed in this garden of delight for no 
higher purpose than to regale himself with its fruits, 
or as a philosopher merely to speculate upon the 
heavens and the earth; to trace the motions of the 
planets, or to search out the virtues and qualities of 
plants and animals; nor even only to cultivate a soli- 
tary converse with his great Creator; but likewise 
to glorify him, in concert with his fellow-creatures, 
by acts of social worship, and in the discharge of 
social duties. 

Had our first parents preserved their original in- 
hocence, it is probably supposed that an intercom- 
munity of interests and affections would have sub- 
sisted among their descendants; that man had ne- 
ver shunned the face of man ; nor any monastery or 
hermitage been projected in an order of things, in 
which the law of divine charity would have been in- 
scribed in every human bosom. 

The reader will excuse this frequent recurrence 
to a state of primitive perfection; for who, in the 
present sinful and calamitous condition of the 
world, can forbear to look back frojn time to time, 
upon a period when no disorder existed in nature' 
or man, whenKls bodily temperament and appetites 
were regular and conformable with his situation, 
and his reason and affections moved in harmony 
with the laws of his Creator; and, consequently, 



SECT. III.] On the Utility of Monasteries. 235 

when there was no cause to banish him into a soli- 
tude, or to subject him to any particular mode of 
life or peculiarity of regimen. 

But in his present depraved state there is great need 
to put him under a com'se of discipline, and at inter- 
vals to reduce him to a life of silence and retreat, 
which now is become no less necessary to the health 
of his mind, than occasional abstinence to that of 
his body. In society he generally contracts a sur- 
feit, his reason grows obscured, his principles en- 
feebled, and his passions sickly and irregular; and 
he requires seasons of abstraction, in order to re- 
store a proper tone to his faculties, both moral and 
intellectual. 

This consideration, among others of less account, 
has doubtless contributed to the establishment of 
many monastic institutions. When contemplative 
and pious men have looked abroad into the world, 
and observed the danger to which religion and vir- 
tue are there exposed, they would naturally wish to 
place them in circumstances of greater security; 
and such a wish would be much strengthened in 
those who, by their former engagements in public 
life, had actually experienced the danger them- 
selves. Hence it cannot be thought surprising, that 
many princes and great men, in ages more devout 
though less enlightened than the present, should 



236 On the Utility of Mo7iasteries. [part, iv, 

have appeared amongst the most zealous patrons 
and members of monastic -camfmunities. 



The first founders of religious orders, such as 
Anthony in the fourth, and Benedict in the sixth 
century, probably meant well; and their establish- 
ments seem to have partly answered the end intend- 
ed. It is certain that, during some of the middle 
ages, monks were the principal depositories of 
whatever piety, or learning, or humanity, there re- 
mained in Christendom ; amidst all their supersti- 
tious practices a spirit of true devotion was not to- 
tally extinct; they were the chief instructors of 
youth, and almost the sole historians of their times ; 
as landed proprietors, they were remarkably easy to 
those who held under them, insomuch that leases 
from abbies were often preferred to freehold te- 
nures ; and such was their hospitality, that every re- 
ligious house was open to all comers. 

I am sensible, on the other hand, how properly 
it may be alleged, in derogation from their merit, 
that, however, in some instances a spirit of piety 
might extricate itself from beneath a load of super- 
stition, in others, and those far more numerous, it 
was thereby oppressed and stifled: that their me- 
thod of education was pedantic arid trivial, and 
their historical records barren and uninteresting; 
and, lastly , that their easy indulgence, and indiscrimi- 
nate hospitality, operated chiefly as premiums to 



SECT. III.] On the Utility of Monasteries. )137 

idleness: all this appears to be true, and to be fair- 
ly pleadable in abatement of that exorbitant regard 
in which the religious orders were held in former 
ages. 

Were we indeed only to consider the consequen- 
ces of the vows under which these orders are en- 
gaged, it would be enough for ever to exclude them 
from our favourable opinion. Under the vow of 
poverty, swarms of sturdy mendicants have issued 
forth to prey upon the labours of society, to reap 
where they had not sowriy and to gather where they 
had 7iot strewed^ in direct contrariety to the rule of 
the apostle, that if any man will not work^ neither 
should he eat.^ Under the vow of celibacy the most 
enormous lewdness has been committed; and, un- 
der the profession of canonical obedience, subjects 
have been seduced from their allegiance, princes 
have been deposed and massacred, and a conside- 
rable part of the world reduced under a spiritual 
tyranny. The very recollection of these evils must 
produce a recoil in the breast of every friend to re- 
ligion and virtue, and excite the most fervent wishes 
of every good protestant, that no precaution, con- 
sistent with justice and humanity, maybe omitted, 
to prevent a return of such disorders in this or apy 
other protestant country. 

But notwithstanding my persuasion that the mo- 

* 2 Thess.iii. 10. 



238 On the Utility of Monasteries, [part iv, 

nastic system has upon the whole been detrimental to 
religion, as well as to the present interests of mankind, 
I am inclined to admit on the other hand that the 
zeal of its opposers has carried them to some excess. 
In reformations it is difficult to stop at the proper 
point; as in cleansing a morbid habit there is fre- 
quently much danger lest the good juices should be 
discharged together with the noxious humours. Much 
doubtless was done by Luther and Calvin, and their 
fellow4abourers, in the great work of reforming the 
church; and some things probably were over-done. 
Among the rest, too violent a hand seems to have 
been laid on monastic establishments; and in this 
opinion I have the concurrence of a very excellent 
man, and one in high estimation with protestants, I 
mean Archbishop Leigh ton, who thought, as we are told 
by Burnett, that " the great and leading error of the 
reformation w^as, that more religious houses, and of the 
monastic course of life, free from the entanglements 
of vows and other mixtures, were not preserved ; so 
that the protestant churches had neither places of edu- 
cation, nor retreat for men of mortified tempers."^ 
The same author elsewhere informs us, that good 
Bishop Latimer earnestly pressed Cromwell, upon 
the suppression of the convents by Henry VIII. that 
two or three might be reserved in every county, for 
the purpose of preaching, study, and prayer.'j' Thus ! | 

* See Burnett's History of his own Times, under the yea^ !| 
1661. ' 

f See Burnett's Abridgment of his History of the Reforma- vj 



I 



SECT. III.] On the Utility of Monasteries. 239 

might the holds of superstition, indolence, and vice^ 
have been made sanctuaries of true piety, and refuges 
of afflicted virtue; and a kind of ports and harbours 
where those who had been battered by the storms of 
life might put in and refit. And what harm this would 
have been, even to a protestant country, it is not easy 
to discover. But especially might they have been 
converted to the advantage of the tender sex, who, 
for want of such retreats, are many of them turned 
adrift into the wide world, without a guide, and with- 
out asylum; and it is to be lamented, that, while the 
papists are industriously planting nunneries, and other 
societies of religions^ in this countrj', some good pro- 
testants are not so far excited to imitate their example, 
as to form establishments for the education and pro- 
tection of young women of serious disposition, or 
who are otherwise unprovided, where they might en- 
joy at least a temporary refuge, be instructed in the 
principles of true religion, and in all such useful and 
domestic arts, as might prepare and qualify those who 
were inclined to return into the world, for a pious 
and laudable discharge of the duties of common life. 
Thus might the comfort and welfare of many help- 
less individuals be promoted, to the great benefit of 
society at large; and the interests of popery, by im- 

tion, p. 194, wliere he adds, " But an universal suppression was 
resolved up')ii; and therefore neither could the intercessions of 
the gentry of Oxfordsliire, nor of the visitors, prcse: ve the nun- 
nery at Godstow, thoug-h they found .s^reat strictness of life in it, 
and it was the common place of the education of )oung women 
of quality in that county." 



24^ Oil the Utility of Monasteries* [part iv. 

proving upon its own methods, be considerably coun- 
teracted.^ 

Indeed a few establishments of this nature are not 
wanting in the protestant church. In one branch of it 
there are appropriate houses, where the widows, the 
single sisters, and single brethren, are admitted under 
certain regulations, but without being tied by any ir- 
revocable vows or engagements. And such is the face 
of content which appears in these little societies, 
whose time is divided between useful employment 
and the offices of religion, as might well recommend 
to other protestant denominations the adoption of 
similar institutions, 

* A plan similar to that which is here proposed appears to 
have strongly impressed the mind of Bishop Bm^nett: " Some- 
thing*," says he, *' like monasteries without vows would be a glo- 
rious design, and might be so set on foot, as to be the honour of 
a queen on the throne." See the Conclusion to the History of his 
. @wn Times. 




[ 241 



CONCLUSION. 



In which ith considered, how far the Princifiles of the fore- 
going Discourse may be of Use to guide us in THE 
CHOICE OF LIFE. 

Of the different situations at any time presented 
to our choice, we ought to fix upon that, which, after 
the maturest deliberation, shall appear to be most 
favourable to our moral and religious improvement- 
. as by such an option we are most likely to be made' 
happy ourselves, and useful to others. 

The proper destiny of man is to be happvj and as 
true vn-tue and happiness, in the divine degree, are 
.. ultimately inseparable, our benign Creator has c'om- 
I manded us to secure the former in order to our at- 
tamment of the latterj he hath said. Obey my will 
both as it is partly revealed to you in nature, and 
, more fully in the gospel, and you may expect to en- 
|joy assured blessedness in heaven, and generally to 
ipass your days with comfort upon earth. »■ 

I To be happy in this world is naturally every man's 
fO^ject; and while it is pursued according to the laws 
,of rehg.on, and consequendy in a due subordination 
Ko the happiness of the world to come, fwhich un- 
Houfetly should be our chief end,) there is nothinr in 



I 



« 



242 Conclusion: On the Choice of Life. 

it which is not perfectly allowable. If we seek first 
the kingdom of God^ we are permitted, in the second 
place, to seek a moderate share in the good things of 
this life. The evil is, and it is an evil which every 
serious moralist has lamented, that the present world 
commonly engages om^ first and principal care, while 
our interest in the next is only a matter of secondary 
consideration, or is impiously abandoned to chance or 
fate; and there is cause to fear that multitudes, by this 
preposterous conduct, forfeit their part in both. 

To enjoy both worlds is exclusively the privilege 
of true virtue. Every thing else is only profitable in 
part andyir a season; but virtue, which, in the sense 
here intended, includes piety, is of universal and per- 
petual use. " It is," as the Roman orator eloquently 
speaks, though with less propriety, on the subject of 
human learning, " the nourishment of youth, and the 
solace of age; an ornament to prosperity, and a refuge 
to adversity; our delight at home, and no impediment 
abroad; talks with us by night, attends us in our tra- 
vels, nor forsakes us in our retirements."^ It sheds 
a lustre on all places and on all situations, and is in 
itsdf a source of joy pure and constant, and which 
often flows most copiously when every other is spent 
and exhausted: or, in the more brief and compre- 
hensive language of an apostle, it is profitable to all 
things:^ having promise of the life which now is^ and 
of that which is to come, '\ ; 

* Cic. pro Ardiia poeta. f 1 Tim. iv. 8. 



Conclusion: On the Choice of Life. 243 

He who is properly convinced of this, will never 
dream of happiness widiout a primary r-;gard to 
morals; he will not say, as the multitude has always 
said, Give me riches Jirst, and virtue afterxvards; he 
^ wdl seek it in the first place, and estimate the vari- 
ous conditions of human life only as they afford 
means and instruments for its acquisition and advance- 
ment. 

Every just survey of men and their pursuits will 
come in aid of this principle. It will teach us that, 
however enviable the successes of the votaries of 
fortune or pleasure may appear, they are generally 
accompanied with inward anguish and bitter disap- 
pointment, and at the best never yield a pure and 
heart-felt satisfaction. The ancient burden of the 
v.orld's most triumphant song is still the same, All is 
xnity and vexation of spirit. 

Let it then, in every deliberation upon the choice of 
life, be established as an undoubted maxim, that virtue 
is the only road to true happiness, and that it would 
be every man's interest to take this road, though 
his object was no more than present enjoyment; and 
that neither the pomp of greatness, the splendour of 
wealth, nor the allurement of pleasure, ought to draw 
liis regard for a moment, when they come in compe- 
tition with the humblest station ^vhich supphes more 
efficacious helps to his moral improvement. 



.'244 Conclusion: On the Choice of Life. 

Secondly: In the choice of life every one ought to 
prefer that condition which is most favourable to vir- 
tue, as the surest way to be useful to others, as well 
as to be happy himself. The better any man is, the 
more he is likely tp improve his circumstances, what- 
ever they may be, to the benefit of others ; and the 
more his circumstances supply him v;ith moral and 
religious advantages, the more he is likely to become 
a better man. Hence v/e may infer, that the most 
certain way to be useful is to pitch upon that condi- 
tion, which among those presented to our choice is 
best adapted to further our moral progress. 

; If to lessen the connexion betwixt virtue and utili- 
ty, it should be objected, that men by no means cor- 
rect in their manners, and neither endowed with su- 
perior talents, nor placed in more advantageous cir- 
cumstances, often appear to exceed in usefulness 
others much better than themselves; let it be consi- 
dered, that this is generally little more than appear- 
ance; and that >vhatcver such men may add to the 
slock of worldly enjoyments, they seldom contribute 
any thing to the interests of virtue or virtuous hap- 
piness, which are the only objects of a certain and 
durable value; and that what occasionally they may 
thus contribute is commonly more than balanced by 
the contagion of their exam.ple. Indeed it is fairly 
questionable, whether, on the whole, every bad man 
is not a public evil; at least, v/henever it is otherwise, 
it is an exception to the general rule, and must be 
ascribed to an extraordinary dispensation of thatpro- 



I 



Conclicsio7i : On the Choice of Life. 245 

videncc, which can over-rule even the sins of men to 
the accomplishment of its own purposes. 

But though the connexion, as above stated, between 
virtue and utility, cannot reasonably be disputed, it 
must be acknowledged that the latter may easily be 
pretended, and what is more, may seriously be de- 
signed and prosecuted, to the injury of the formen 
The plea of usefulness may be no better than a con- 
venient cloak to an interested and ambitious spirit, 
under which it conceals itself in order to the attain- 
ment of its own ends; and even to a virtuous mind, 
unless well acquainted with itself, and endued with 
much prudent circumspection, it is a plea that will 
often prove delusive. A good man naturally desires 
to ao good, and is apt to imagine, that, were he in 
poiesession of greater power and v/ealth, his usefulness 
would in proportion be more extended. The poor, 
he is ready to suppose, would find in him a more li- 
beral benefactor, and the deserving a more generous 
patron; and hence he is led to engage in situations to 
which his virtue is not always equal. By such a con- 
duct it is probable, according to the principle we have 
established, that both his usefulness and virtue will 
decline together. The illusion in this case arises from 
a supposition, that the mind will remain unaltered 
with a change of circumstances, and that, as the means 
of usefulness are increased, the disposition to improve 
them will not be diminished; a supposition which is 
crossed by every day's experience. The least ob- 
servation upon ourselves or others may convince us, 

that the usual tendencv of prosperity is to g-nerate 

Y2 



246 Conclusion: On the Choice of Life. 

pride and self-indulgence, which seldom fail to harden 
the heart against every humane and generous impres- 
sion, and so render it alike insensib e to the cries of 
distress, and to the claims of humble merit. A wise 
man will therefore stand upon his guard against so 
plausible a deception, and be careful never to extend 
his sphere of service beyond the force of his moral 
principle. 

Besides, we are but ill judges of what will conduce 
to the real advantage either of societies or indivi- 
duals, which makes it dangerous to proceed upon 
mere speculations of utility. The entire operation of 
any measure we can take depends upon an infinity of 
relations and connexions which escape our notice, 
and exceed our understandings; and therefore it be- 
hoves us to keep strictly to the rule of duty, and leftve 
the rest to Him, who, comprehending all the various 
concatenations of things, knows both the immediate 
and remote consequences of our actions. To whicn 
may be added, that we are very apt to mistake, in 
supposing that na service is done without a degree of 
outward exertion, whereas the silent influence of a 
good man may be of the greatest benefit; his bene- 
volence, his modesty, his temperate use of the world, 
and the equal tenor of an unambitious life, may carry 
into the minds of those around him, an impression of 
the due value of the objects of men's ordinary pur- 
suits, and that nothing here below deserves much 
bustle or contention. 

We therefore conclude it to be an undoubted rule 



Condimon: On the Choice of Life. . 247 
in the choice of life, to prefer that condition, whatever 
n be wh.ch ,s n.ost favourable to our n.oral improve- 
ment; and by th.s rule we shall regulate our remain, 
ing observations. 

I. The bulk of mankind may be considered as made 
up of two great divisions, the one naturally qualified 
fo a pubhe, the other for a private station 'x^ose of 
a robust frame, a cool disposition, and a plodding di- 
^8-ce, are fitted for the former; while persons'of a 
dehca,c texture, a quick sensibility, and precipitate 
emper, are marked out for the latter. That hurry of 
busmess wh.ch in the one case would only serve to 
collect the spirits and invigorate the faculties, would 
m the other, produce nothing but debility and irrita- 
tion. Hence, an enlightened virtue, which, in what- 
ever relates to the present world, is in favour of me- 
diocnty, and condemns alike a state of languid 
mdolence, and of violent agitation, will, if consulted, 
P scnbe a hfe of business to those, who, from a 
phlegmatic constitution of body or mind, require a 
constant external impulse to keep them moderately 
employed; while to others of a tnore prompt and 
susceptible temper, and who need rather the bridle 
than the spur,she will recommend more retiredscenes 
and calmer occupations. 

When a person of feeble health and irritable nerves 
IS engaged in public life, it . often no less a misfor- 
tune to others tnan to himself. Unable to sustain the" 
pressure of busmess, or to contend with the injustice 
which seldom fails to mingle itself with human trans- / 
actions, his temper becomes soured, his purposes ir- 



248 Conclusion: Qn the Choice of Life. 

resolute, he looks with suspicion on every thing 
around him, and perhaps is tempted at length to have 
recourse to those arts which he is apt to imagine 
are practised against himself. From such efFects of a 
situation to which he is unequal, we are led either to 
condemn the indiscretion of his choice, or to lament 
the exigency of his circumstances. Nor ought our cen- 
sure or regret to be less excited when we see others 
stagnate in still life, whose firm and steady complex- 
Tonal character, if called forth on the public stage, 
would display itself in a virtuous and useful course 
of action. 

This natural vocation, if I may so term it, to a 
public or private life, is in some cases marked with 
more decision. In the great mass of humanity there 
are spirits of a distinguished order, conscious of their 
own superior powers, and of their call to peculiar ser- 
vice. There are men, for instance, who seem origi- 
nally formed to take the lead in the business of the 
world; those, I mean, who-by a natural ascendancy ^ 
of character are qualified to command others, or by 
the gentler influence of pursuasion to incline them to 
their purpose; and who feel it their duty to exert 
these powers for the common good. When therefore 
such persons, out of a fond indulgence to their ease 
or their speculations, shrink from public service, they 
are neither true to themselves nor to others, and are 
guilty of a manifest violation both of the law of virtue 
and of utility. On the contrary, there are some whose 
spirits are more finely touched, and whom nature 
has strongly marked out for a literary and contempla- 
tive life, and who themselves are secretly sensible of 



Conclusion: On the Choice of Life. 249 

her designation; and whenever men of this character, 
false to the private suggestion of their own minds, 
engaged in occupations for which they are originally 
disqualified, the event, as might be expected, gene- 
rally corresponds with the folly of their choice. '^ My 
.leading error," says Lord Bacon, in a letter to Sir 
Thomas Bodley, " has been, that knowing myself by 
inward calling to be fitter to hold a book than to play 
a part, I have led my life in civil causes, for which I 
w^as not very fit by nature, and more unfit by the pre- 
occupation of my mind." Thus w^as this eminent 
genius, who was born for the advancement of learn- 
ing and religion, lured away from his natural situa- 
tion by a meteor of political ambition, to the proba- 
ble injury of posterity, and certainly to his own 
dishonour. And of late w^e have seen a man of no. 
ordinary talents, and who in the shade of retire- 
ment might have done good service in the cause of 
literature and morals, sadly fret away his hour of life 
on the bustling stage of politics. 

II. Betvv'een a public and a retired condition there 
is -a third, which partakes of both, and which, to the 
greater part of mankind is preferable to either. This 
intermediate state has a considerable latitude, and re- 
quires ^o be varied according to the particular case 
in question. 

The great practical point is to find a due medi- 
um, or so to combine society and solitude that each 
may prepare for the other, and both concur to our 
moral improvement. This medium is chiefly to be 



250 Conclusion: On the Choice of Life* 

sought in the particular character of every indivi- 
duaL 



And here again the corporeal part of our frame 
may afford us an instructive lesson of life and con- 
duct. The body, we all know, requires or admits 
of a different treatment according to the variety of 
its temperament. To persons of a vigorous consti- 
tution, we. see that scarce any food is injurious, or 
any weather unseasonable; they can sit down to a 
feast, or go out in a storm, without danger of catching 
a cold or a surfeit; while those who are of a sick- 
ly habit must be content with more frugal meals, 
and not stir abroad but in fair weather. And 
thus men of confirmed virtue may engage in 
employments, and mix in societies, which would 
prove noxious or fatal to those of less established 
principles. 

Let no one, however, so far presume upon his vir-» 
tue, whatever it may be, as to venture into the world 
beyond his vocation ; she has cast do%v7i many woun' 
ded^ and slain many strong men; her cruelties have 
destroyed many, and her flatteries more. No one, 
therefore, whose virtue is guided by prudence, will 
ever wantonly expose himself to the assaults of so 
formidable an enemy, but will rather use every law- 
ful method to shun the encounter: and it will be 
only when this cannot be avoided without a sacrifice 
of duty, that he will resolve to meet the danger, and 
then to meet it with firmness. The same lips which 



Conclusion: On the Choice of Life. 251 

said, whosoever shall deny me before men^ hi?n will I 
also deny before my Father in heaven^ has also pro- 
nounced, xvhen they persecute you in one city^flee into 
another; and the necessity of a modest precaution 
is often much stronger in respect to the pleasurable 
temptations of life : so that, on the whole, when we 
duly weigh our own frailty, and the general corrupt 
state of the world, and, on these accounts, the great 
difficulty to observe a proper medium in our secu- 
lar intercourse, it may appear most adviseable, if we 
must err, to err on the part of abstraction ; as in re- 
lation to the health of the body it is commonly safest 
to lean on the side of abstinence. 

There is a further remark, under this idea of a 
prudential balance, which I would here suggest, 
namely, that by opposing the contending evils, of a 
situation, as factions in a state, to one another, their 
force may sometimes be broken. Nor is this policy 
in all cases to be rejected ; the feeble may find it ne- 
cessary, and those who are stronger may be glad, at 
certain seasons, when the world bears hard upon 
them, to employ every honest device that may help 
to confound its counsels, and to weaken its efforts. 
At the same time let it be remembered, that a Chris- 
tian is called to act upon higher and more effica- 
cious principle ; — to repel every temptation, and to 
surmount every difficulty, by the power of a divine 
faith; to manifest a superiority of mind to all con- 
ditions; and to regulate every step he takes in his 
journey through life by the rule of scripture, in con^ 



252 Conclusion: On the Choke of Lift. 

junction with the intimations of providence as dis- 
coverable in his present circumstances. 

In some ca&es, indeed, the single impulse of na- 
ture may afford him a sufficient direction ; in others, 
much previous deliberation is necessary. A man, 
for instance, who is e-xhausted merely by a hurry of 
business, naturally withdraws to his country-house, 
or to some other place of quiet, till he has recover- 
ed his former vigour; but when the question re- 
spects his total seclusion from the world, or whether 
he shall finally renounce the bustle of life to pass 
the remainder of his days in a country retreat, the 
decision may be found extremely difficult ; especial- 
ly if his passions, by a long indulgence, are grown 
wanton and unruly. In such a situation, whichever 
way he determines, whether to stand his ground or 
to retire, his danger is great and imminent. Should 
he resolve upon the latter, his safest course may be 
to proceed leisurely, and to endeavour, by contrac- 
ting his affairs, or devolving as much as possible the 
care of them upon others, gradually to diminish 
their influence, and so to prepare himself for the 
change he meditates. The general who has to make 
good his retreat with a mutinous army, and in the 
face of a superior enemy, had need to use all his cir- 
cumspection. 

To withdraw gracefully from the public stage, and 
by securing a season of virtuous repose, after a life of 
action, to place a kind of sacred interval between 



Conclusion: On the Choice of Life. 253 

this world and the next, is a piece of practical wis- 
dom whzch I fear is in few hands: for though it is 
by no means unusual for men, who have acquired a 
tortune m busmess, or are grown weaiy of the world 
to exchange the town for the country, they seldom' 
do It with that prudent forecast as to provide them- 
selves with those principles of knowledge and piety, 
without which a life of retirement, notwithstanding 
all their temporal resources, will be likely to prove 
both unprofitable and comfortless. We cannot there- 
iore be surprised, if, after they have vainly endeavour- 
ed to please themselves with rural labours and amuse- 
Tients, we see them frequendy turn back into the 
^^•orld, resume the business they seemed to have 
%' relmquished, and at last die in the harness. 

HI. Further: The right choice of life is a subject 
which ought to be well studied by those parents who 
^n the disposal of their children, are not confined 
withm the limits of a particular profession or rank in 
society^ for in this case, as there would be little 
room for choice, it would be of litde use to examine 
strictly the reasons upon which it ought to be form- 
ed. Accordingly, among the lower orders of the 
community, where peasants and artizans, from father 
to. son, succeed to their several employments by a 
kind of natural inheritance, such an inquiry would 
be in a manner superfluous. 

But where there is a latitude of choice, which is 
the case of the middle and upper ranks of life, it is 

2 



254 Conclusion: On the Choice of Life, 
of great consequence how parents use their discre- 
tionary power; since the present and future welfare 
of their offspring, together with the general order 
and happiness of society, so much depend upon it. 

Their first object should be, (for the business of 
education is here presupposed,) after they have con- 
sidered the probable influence of the several stations | 
within their option, upon the youth they are about to | 
dispose of; to place him in that which shall be judg- ^ 
ed the most secure to his virtue, and the most fa- . 
vourable to his religious improvement. 

When two or more situations appear equal in this ; 
respect, a chief regard is then due to natural genius: 
for though a young man of ordinary capacity may, 
by dint of application, become respectable in almost 
any profession, he will only excel in rtaf to which 
his faculties are originally adapted, and to which he 
is carried by a natural impetus. Some indeed have 
■asserted, that genius is no more than the general 
power of the mind accidentally determined to a par- 
ticular object; which is a paradox, though supported 
by great names, not easily to be admitted. To sup- 
pose that Homer, if lines and figures had first caught 
his attention, would have been as profound a mathe- 
matician as Newton, or that Newton, if a copy pt 
verses had originally fired • his fancy, would have 
• rivalled Homer in poetry, seems to be no more 
probable than that he, whose athletic constitution 
of body makes him an able porter, would, if he hadj 



Conclusion: On the Choice of Life. 255 

taken another turn, have proved an excellent tumbler 
or rope-dancer. 



If therefore it be true, that every mdividual is 
marked out by nature for some arts and professions 
in preference to others, it will not then, I think, be 
disputed, tliat this aptitude^ or, if any like the term 
better, t\\\^ capacity^ in the circumstances now stated, 
and when directed to objects which contribute to the 
benefit of human life, ought generally to be che- 
rished ; and that it ought never to be rudely discou- 
raged, even though in some instances it should lead 
an ingenious youth to a place in society which might 
seem beneath his birth or expectations. 

Should the capacity of a youth be such as emi- 
nently to entitle him to the character of a genius, it 
may be more difficult to prescribe to his pursuits. 
Elevated by a consciousness of his native powers, 
he will probably be averse to listen to the cool dic- 
tates of experience; in which case it maybe best to 
allow him scope, and only to guard against his ec- 
centricities. 

It cannot be too much regretted, that the genera- 

.\ lity of parents are so little attentive to provide their 

children with those situations, 'for which, by nature 

• and education, they are best qualified. Instead of 

this, they are apt to be governed by views of interest 

or vanity, and to consider, not what is most fit, but 



256 Conclusion: On the Choice of Life. 

what, in a worldly estimation, is likely to be most 
reputable or advantageous. At other times, perhaps, 
they will fondly comply with the fanciful inclination 
of a favourite son, even to the probable prejudice of 
his temporal interests; and should he discover a 
degree of literary vivacity, which is often nothing- 
more than the effervescence of a juvenile imagina- 
tion, he is then in danger of being rated as a genius, 
and accordingly destined to take his station in the 
ranks of some learned profession. 

IV. To these or other similiar causes, the disloca- 
ted state of the world must, in no small degree, be 
attributed. How many men are there, who, without 
any other force than that of bones and muscles, are 
engaged in employments v/hich chiefly require the 
powers of the understanding? How many others 
who, though meant by nature to obey and not to rule, 
are invested with offices in which it is necessary to 
rule and not to obey? How many who occupy places 
disproportioned to their light or their virtue, and how 
fejw from a sense of their incapacity withdraw them- 
selves into humbler situations? Almost every man 
thinks himself capable of every thing, and only 
bounds his pretensions by the absolute impossibility 
of their accomplishment. It is by this preposterous 
ambition that unqualified men bring so many evils 
upon society, both in its religious and civil state; for 
it is impossible for him who is oat of his proper 
place, and who is devoid of those qualities which are 
necessary to the discharge of the duties which belong 



Conclusion: On the Choice of Life. 257 

to his usurped station, not to be guilty of innumera- 
ble faults ; and these faults being the consequence of 
his temerity and presumption, render him usually 
contemptible in this world, and greatly endanger his 
future happiness.^ 

Should it here be objected, that whatever our place 
or situation in the world may be, it is allotted us by 
the Almighty, and therefore that it becomes us to 
acquiesce in it, and to make the best of it. 

To this objection I so far agree, as to admit that 
there is no event in nature or human life without di- 
vine providence; only let it be remembered that this 
superintending power is exercised according to the 
several natures and qualities of the objects; and that 
rational and accountable beings are not disposed of 
in the manner of those that are irrational or inani- 
mate. 

There are some occupations so evidently criminal 
in their own nature, that it would be absurd, as well as 
impious, to resolve them into divine designation. 
Would it not be strange for a smuggler, a receiver 
of stolen goods, a keeper of a brothel, or a gambling- 
house, to allege providence in his justification? Such 
a plea must at once be rejected with abhorrence, even 
though his father had stood in the same place before 
him, and he himself had been bred up to the profes- 

* See Nicole in liis JSssais de Morale, where this topic fre- 
quently occurs. 



258 Conclusion: On the Choice of Life. 

sion; which, however it might be urged in mitigation 
of his offence before he came to years of discretion, 
can afford him no valid reason for his continuance in 
it afterwards. 

The rule laid down by the apostle, in speaking of 
Christians, that evei'y man should abide in the same 
calling wherein he xvas called^ is undoubtedly, like 
every other rule laid down by divine wisdom, j^^s^ 
ixwd good^'AXidi must therefore be restrained to those 
vocations v/hich are lawful in themselves, and could 
never be intended to authorise a violation of the laws 
either of nature or society. It served at the time to 
prevent many scruples that might have arisen in the 
minds of heathen converts, as whether a believing 
husband might continue to live with his unbelieving 
wife, or a believing slave with an infidel master, which 
are two cases specified by the apostle; and, from the 
general doctrine it conveyed, that Christianity grant- 
ed no release to its disciples from any former duties 
natural or civil, it might farther serve to correct the 
prejudices of heathen magistrates and people, who re- 
garded the Christians as enemies to kings and pro- 
vinces, and even as hostile to human nature; and it 
is useful at all times for quieting the minds of good 
men, amidst those doubts which may arise in almost 
every situation of human life. And, lastly, it may 
serve to check that restless spirit, so natural to man- 
kind, whose tendency is only to increase its own tor- 
ment and to disturb the world, and which, without 



Conclusion: On the Choice of Life. 250 

this rule, might seek to shelter itself under the pretext 
of Christian liberty. 

Yet though both scripture and reason condemn an 
unquiet and shifting disposition, and give no encou- 
ragement to that speculative humour that would lead 
us to relinquish advantages which are pf^esent and 
real for others which are remote and perhaps imagi- 
nary, they by no means prohibit universally a change 
of outward condition, which in many cases, may be 
expedient, and in some a duty. There are situations, 
as we have observed, which must be quitted without 
demur; there are others of whose lawfulness serious 
doubts may be entertained, and which also must be 
given up, if such doubts cannot fairly be satisfied; 
for here another rule laid down by the apostle takes 
place. Whatsoever is 720t offaith^ that is, whatsoever 
is not done with a persuasion of its rectitude and 
consistency with the divinef will, is sin. Nay, though 
the lawfulness of our present situation should admit 
of no dispute, a change is still permitted, whenever it 
is very probable that it will increase either our reli- 
gious advantages, our usefulness, or even our own 
innocent enjoyment. I say very probable^ lest any 
should suppose that every flattering project or plausi- 
ble presumption is sufficient to justify a departure 
from the general rule. 

I am sensible that all our reflections, even the ma- 
turest, upon the choice of life ^ must be very imperfect, 
and of difficult application. Man is a short-sighted 



260 Conclusio7i: On the Choice of Life. 

creature^ he knows but little of himself, of the ob- 
jects around him, or of the consequences of his ac- 
tions. It therefore highly concerns him, after the best 
exercise of his own judgment, to refer himself to a 
superior direction, to trust in the Lord xvith all his 
hearty and not to lean to his own understanding. Such 
was the counsel of one, who to the greatest intellec- 
tual endowments, added all the light of experience; 
and it is a counsel to which every man will listen, 
who duly consults either his present or his future 
interest. 



THE END 



AN EXTRACT 

From the Eclectic Review of 1805, referred to in the noteef 
fiage 94, in this work. 

We are sorry to find occasion for dissenting from Mr. 
Bates in some of the sentiments respecting classical edu- 
a\tion, which occur in page 94. 

Most cordially do we participate with him in his virtu- 
ous zeal against the admission of any thing into the studies 
of youth, by which the imagination could be vitiated, or 
the mind depraved. We cannot, however, allow, that this 
caution involves any necessity for excluding the authors 
of antiquity fix)m the place which they have hitherto 
occupied; but merely for our subjecting. them to a strict 
expurgation, so as not to leave in them a single image or 
sentiment, inconsistent with christian purity. We say 
with christian fiurity^ because we conceive, that the dan- 
ger lies infinitely more in their profligacy tlian in their 
paganism. There is an infectiousness in the one, of 
which the other is now destitute : and while . we grieve 
to reflect on the mischiefs which rnust necessarily have 
arisen to moral principle and to moral taste, from the 
promiscuous reading of such authors, we cannot but think, 
that their bewildering and degraded mythology has fur- 
nished an useful contrast to the divine rationality and 
heavenly majesty of revealed religion. 

We rejoice then in the thought, that the poisonous 
part of the Greek and Latin Classics is clearly separable, 

2 A 



[ .2?0 ] 

and has actually been separated, from those iavaluabie 
remains of antiquity. Invaluable^ on the coolest consi- 
deration, we must call them, on account of the noble 
purposes to which they are applicable; in elucidating 
the utter insufficiency of man for his own happiness; 
the natural cravings of the human heart after an infinite 
good; and the astonishing anticipations of what that good 
must imply, in order to satisfy the thirst of man's moral 
nature. On these grounds, we cannot but consider them 
as irrefragable witnesses for Christianity, in those very 
views of it which the generality of its nominal profes- 
sors, even at this day, and in this enhghtened land, either 
overlook or oppose. We mean its inward and spiritual, 
its liberating and felicitating operations. Where, we 
w^ould ask, except in the Sacred Scriptures, is the aching 
void of the natural heart more forcibly illustrated, than 
in the soberer reflections of Horace ? And how surpri- 
singly is the deep darkness of his views illuminated, at 
intervals, with something like a detached precursory ray 
of that day-spring from on high, which was just about to 
rise on the long-benighted world!* To do justice, how- 
ever, to this inestimable use of the classic writers, would 
require a volume. 

* We refer, for example, to the well-known Ode, " Otiwn 
Divos,^' Lib. ii. Ode 16. where the inefficacy of wealth and 
honours to allay tlie tniserable tumults of the Tnind, the idleness 
of chang-ing one's country when it is i^npossible to fiy from 
oiiesef the hopelessness of escaping care, by sea or land, in 
peace or war, are expressed so strongly, and painted so vividly, 
as to give the idea of a sort of probing of tlie deepest ulcers of 
human nature, previously to the period for applying the Sove- 
reign Balsam This, however, is but one out of various passages 
of like import. 



[ 271 ] 

But, it may be srad, this purpose of classical learning 
niiglU as wclK if not better, be attained by the method 
which Mr. 13. has recommended— that of reading those 
authors under the eye of a judicious master^ after being 

When Horace asks, (Epist. 18. Booki.) TVhat assuages cares? 
What makes a man at peace 'ivith hhnself? H'hat gives pure 
tranquillity? Had he not an ideal glimpse of that ivrcmrd liberty, 
with which the great Ilcdeemcr was so soo?i t.i make those free, 
rcho should believe on him? And are not these the very inquiries, 
to which, at this day, men most need to be excited; yet, m 
what form could these most important sup^gestions appear, or 
f.-om w]\at quarter could they be offered to us, with the same 
force, as in the writings of a Roman i[)Ciet,just before the (^ra of 
our Saviour? Again, when he describes to us all the fashionable 
world, some in ships, and others in chariots, in hot pursuit of 
what they cannot thus find— (fn.'e happiness), but which they 
might find in the most obscure village, if their own minds were 
in a right state, does he not come nearer a just idea of St. 
Paul's glorious equanimity (when " he had learned in whatso- 
ever state he was, therewith to be content,") than the far 
greater number of modern professing Christians— we wish we 
iiad no cause to add, of modern Divines, too? How wonderfully 
did he feel, that " one tiling was needful," when he used the 
language which Pope has so beautifully translated— 

<« That task, which as \ve iVxlow or despise, 

" The eldest is a fool, the youngest wise; 

" Which done, the poorest can no wants endure, 

" And which not done, the richest must be poor." 

If it be asked, what good did all this do to himself, he be* 
ing so evidently a debauchee ? We answer, that this does not 
abate the force of a single sentiment which he has uttered; be- 
cause it was not by such hght that. men were to be saved from 
depravity. Even by the law was only the knowledge of sin. 
Could more then be looked for here? 



[ 272 ] 

gTOunded m the firincifiles of Christianity^ and receiving a 
good degree of general iinjirovetnerit. p. 98. We answer^ 
that; on the supposition of a master, at once conscien- 
tious and judicious, the time of life usually allotted to 
these studies appear to us most eligible, as the mind is 
then susceptible of the deepest and most lasting impres- 
sions; and the truths, to which we have referred, cannot 
be impressed either too deeply or too permanently. 
What, we ask, could be more conducive to the sobriety 
and moderation of the youthful mind, than to be impres- 
sed, before it commences its career, with such unexcep- 
tionable attestations to the vanity of the world, and to 
man's infinite need of that very species of aid and com- 
fort which is offered in the Gospel ? 

We can ^assign an additional reason:— -The classic 
authors, and especially the poets, seem singularly fitted 
for eliciting sound taste, ""and for training the imagination 
to the exercise of its proper functions. What earthly 
means can be devised so consummately adapted to this 
end as the being habitually conversant, at the most im- 
pressible period of life, with some of the noblest masters 
of thought and expression? That this early culture of 
the imagination should involve in it the labour of learning 
ancient languages, we deem an advantage rather than an, 
inconvenience. As we cannot conceive by what first ex- 
ercise the thinking powers of the mind could, at that early 
age, be so easily engaged, or so effectually expanded, as 
by studying the combination of words, and the, analysis 
of langu age, in a Latin or Greek author. We say in a 
Latin or Greek author, because, by thus exercising 
the young mind n dialects so wholly un^like its own, 
it not only attains an accuracy and precision in the 



[ 273 ] 

use of words, (which we conceive has seldom, if ever 
by moderns, been acquired otherwiseO but it also be- 
comes graduuiiy, and almost imperceptibly, initiated in 
that most important science, Universal Grammar. 

We cannot, moreover, but express ovu' surprise, that 
a writer, experimentally acquainted with the benefits of 
classical institution, should have adopted so many of ?'Ir. 
Locke's sentiments on this subject, when we consider 
how very different that great man's premises are from 
what we conceive to be held by Mr. B. It was natural for 
Mr. Locke to complain that a child should be " chained 
to the oar, seven, eight, or ten, of the best years of his 
life," because, having no idea of that depravity, which or- 
thodox Christians ascribe to every child of man, he resolv- 
ed all that he saw amiss in society into mismanagement 
of education; and of that mismanagement he naturally 
deemed coercive discipline to form a chief part. He, on 
the contrary, conceived the love of refiutation and firaise to 
be that whereby the young mind was to be drawn to rec- 
titude; and urged the expediency of fitting every thing, as 
much as possible, to the child's liking, that the feeling of 
labour and restraint might not intermi:^^ with any part of 
education. 

But to one, who, like the author before us, firmly be- 
lieves the doctrine of human depravity, there cannot ap- 
pear the same reason for rejecting coercion and reprobat- 
ing confinement. Where it is believed, that habitual self- 
controul is the only means of attaining safety, a prelimi- 
nary subjection to equal controul from others can hardly 
be thought either unreasonable or unnecessary. If, there- 
fore, the value that has beeen attached to the Greek and 



[ 2/4 ] 

Latin languages answered no other moral purpose, than 
that of furnishing a strict stated employment for that age, 
which could not be so closely confined, perhaps, to any 
mental labour; that alone might authorise us to regard it 
as a e:racious arranQ:ement of divine Providence. 

We must add, that Mr. Bates appears also to us less 
consistent than Mr. Locke in depreciating poetry; as many 
parts of his work seem to exhibit a mind well formed for 
relishing poetic excellence. When Mr. Locke uttered his 
censure, he probably was not aware hov/ large a portion of 
the Holy Scriptures is poetical. These very parts of the 
Old Testament Mr. Bates expressly eiiumerates (p. 95), 
as a proof that we need not send our youth for this spe- 
cies of mental gratification to Greece or Rome. But who 
can read that incomparable work, to which he refers at 
the foot of the same page, (Lowth's Pn^lectiones de Sacra 
Poesi Hebrazorum^ without entire conviction, that the clas- 
sical scholarship, which Mr. Bates deprecates, is an es- 
sential pre-requisite for adequately unfolding, and even, 
for fully relishing, those Songs of Inspiration? And who, 
we may add, after having read this work in the original, 
looks into Gregory's excellent translation, does not feel it 
an invaluable advantage to understand the author's own 
exquisite expressions, and to enter with him into all his 
illustrations? If the knowledge of Greek and Latin served 
no other purpose than those of which we are now speak- 
"^ng, what man of taste and of piety might not well deem 
even the drudgery of seven '^ tedious years" amply com- 
pensated? We would, indeed, strongly recommend the 
study of the Scriptures in the originals to be associated, 
fronn the very beginning, with that of the classics; and we 
think it a reproach to the present age, that a language so 



[ 275 ] 

simple, so easy of acquisition, as the Hebrew, and which 
is the vehicle of so large a portion of Divine Revelation, 
and of the sublimest sentiments and description to be 
found in the world, should enter so little as it does into 
the plan of what is called a Classical Education. 

The most lively imagination, and the most susceptible 
feelings, become, when under the influence of Christianity, 
the source of additional comfort, or the means of addi- 
tional safety. And we consequently see, that the religion 
of the Bible has made use of poetry as one of its chief ex- 
pedients. The prevalence of the poetic character in the 
Old Testament has been already referred to. May we not 
observe, that the ever-lovely apologues of our blessed 
Saviour, and the strongly figurative language of the apos- 
tolic writers, are little less powerful proofs, how much 
it was the divine purpose to employ, not to suppress, the 
human imagination ? 

If there be danger, as Mr. Bates apprehends, p. 99, 
that " from a nation of philosophers, we may dwindle 
down into a race of grammarians and sophists;" we think 
that it must arise, not from classical learning being either 
too early or too generally pursued, but from the substance 
of it being neglected for its shadow; from real, solid eru- 
dition being lost sight of in a solicitude about rythmical 
quantities and philological niceties ; and in endeavours to 
work up classical shreds into dull translations, which 
bring as little profit to the writer as pleasure to the reader. 

Still we maintain, that true classical learaing never can 
become obsolete, inasmuch as it alone can give us com- 
X)lete access to the divine records of the Messiah's king- 



276 ] :■ "Z'':;" 

dom ; to the providential arrangements, which pi^epared 
the world for its establishment ; or to the results which 
ensued for fifteen centuries after its introduction. Hence 
the well known and striking connexion of the revival of 
classical literature, with the reformation of religion, in 
Europe, admits of an easy and a clear elucidation. We 
conceive other advantages that we have mentioned to be 
inestimable. But here we take our strongest stand; and 
of this we are ready to think the worthy author himself 
will not wish to dispossess us; since, notwithstanding his 
apparent hostility, the note on his ^9th page obliges us 
to regard him as only in a few circumstances our adver- 
sary, while in substance he is our ally. 



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